Lovehammer: Winged Knight
by Lovehammer Inc
Summary: Seriously. *points up* Drabbles by Winged Knight, the person who really kicked off the drabble writing in the parent thread, and good for him!
1. The Prologue

Anybody who has read Arkado's Lovehammer: Sailor Moon 40K, or Charles Bhepin's Lovehammer: The Scattering of Serenity, will probably recognise this prologue in a short order, so here it is, the very first post (written by Winged Knight, unchanged on this occasion) that wasn't merely discussion in the thread that has gone on to inspire many.

{oOo}

He stood there, surveying the all that lay beneath him. Below was the killing field, ripe with the stench of death and filled with the sounds of the dying. Bodies littered the ground as far as the eye could see, and the dirt was sodden with the blood of men. Today had been the final battle, the defeat of the last rival warlord for dominion of Terra. While tiny pockets of resistance still existed, there was no longer any major military force left to oppose him. He, already known as the Emperor by his subjects, was the uncontested ruler of mankind.

The Emperor was an imposing figure, especially clad in his towering golden armor. His face was all hard angles, and while seemingly young his eyes held the true weight of his thousands of years. Those same eyes held boundless determination, but they held near infinite sorrow as well.

"So much needless death," he whispered to himself. Needless indeed, for without the betrayal of the alien mankind would not have been driven so close to destruction. It had brought the Emperor no pleasure in conquering Terra over the numerous bodies of the rival warlords. It had hurt him to see humanity fractured like this. They were only strong so long as they were united. Divided, scrambling and eating each other, they would surely all perish in the harsh and unforgiving universe.

Perhaps, one day, mankind would cooperate with the alien again. But that day was far off, and it would only come when humanity was the dominant force in the galaxy. Trust, after a betrayal such as that, would only happen with superior strength.

"This can never happen again."

The Emperor had wanted to see the result of the carnage alone so that he could burn it into his mind. This was the price to be paid for his ascension, and it was heavy indeed. He vowed he would always remember this sacrifice.

He turned to rejoin his various commanders and advisors, but stopped short. He felt... something, something that had not been there before. That was impossible. He was a man of considerable psychic might, a bastion of strength unlike any other. He felt every mind for miles around at every second of every day. Nothing was capable of sneaking past him. This strange mind he felt couldn't have just suddenly appeared, but there it was.

He made his way toward it, concerned and more than a little curious. He had never felt a mind quite like this. It was doing something strange to the Warp. Where it lay the Warp was calmer, more stable. All around it was as chaotic as ever, but that one little spot was like an island in turbulent waters. That was unheard of. The Warp was constantly shifting and inherently wild, full of dark entities that preyed upon living minds. He had lived with their chittering and temptations since the very first day of his birth. He was so used to them that he could tune them out without thought. But the closer he came to this pocket of stability, the quieter they became.

He topped a rise and saw the source. It was a child, probably not even a month old. A girl, by the looks of it, with long blonde hair. She was sleeping, wrapped in a blanket, which protected her from the rocky ground.

As silently as he was able, the Emperor approached the sleeping infant. He took a good look at how the Warp was acting around her, confirming what he had felt from a distance. The Warp was calm all around the child, the phenomenon stretching several feet all around her.

"What are you?"

He reached out, his mind to hers. He looked beyond this incarnation and peered into the memories of her past life. What he saw surprised him.

She was like him, a powerful reincarnation on par with himself. But where he had been reincarnated from thousands of souls, she was only one. He frowned and looked deeper, moving as gently as possible. He didn't want to hurt the child.

He saw a great kingdom in the solar system, a golden age for humanity. Each planet held its own culture and wonders, protected by powerful female soldiers wielding the fundamental forces of the universe. His frown deepened. This had not happened, none of it. He had lived for thousands of years, tens of thousands. He had seen several empires rise and fall as he subtly guided humanity, and there had never been this planetary empire. Even if it had proceeded him, there would have been the remains of the technology. But there wasn't. He had walked every inch of this world in his lifetime. What he saw could not be. The memories weren't false, though. He sensed no deception within the girl's mind.

He continued his perusal of her memories, and what he saw changed his frown into a snarl.

_'Chaos.'_

The child squirmed a bit in her sleep, and the Emperor calmed himself. Connected as they were, the girl would be sensitive to his moods. He was incredibly powerful, and from what he could tell she would be as well. But she wasn't, yet. He would have to be more careful.

He saw Chaos descend upon the empire. He saw soldiers fight bravely against daemonic hordes, grotesque monsters that laughed as they stripped flesh from the bone and rent bodies asunder. He saw the guardians of the planets fight bravely against overwhelming odds, refusing to give an inch that wasn't soaked in the blood of their enemies. He saw them fight, he saw them kill and he saw them die.

And in the end, the leader of this horde confronted the queen of the empire, this child's mother. Just as the hands of death were about to grasp her, she struck a risky gambit. With her power she banished the horde and gathered the souls of the slain, sending them onto the path of reincarnation. But the horde was near infinite in number, and the souls of the dead in the millions. The effort of it drained her, and cost her life. The Emperor marveled at her courage, at her love for her people and the love for her child. She was a worthy leader, to sacrifice so much for them.

But he could see that it did not all go as the queen had hoped. As a final parting blow, Chaos redirected the reincarnation of the princess and her mightiest soldiers, sending them beyond the barriers of universe and time. They veered wildly off their path, eventually ending up in another realm altogether.

"So that is it," the Emperor muttered as he left the child's mind. "You come from another place entirely, little one."

He picked the child up gently, trying not to disturb her. She wiggled a bit and awoke, looking at him with eyes as blue as the sky. She smiled and reached up, cooing as she grabbed a lock of his long black hair. He smiled a bit as she tugged on it. She was fascinated by the long, flowing strands, wrapping her hands all around them.

"I need a name for you, little one," he said softly. "Give me a little bit to find something suitable."

He turned and made his way back to the camp where his army lay, chuckling a little. He couldn't wait to see how his generals and advisors reacted to this.

{oOo}

AN: Why yes, I did just transfer this from the BM Edition. xD If only so future routes may use this as a starting point, if they wish~


	2. The Scattering

{oOo}

Serenity hummed a small tune as she walked the hallways of her Father's laboratory on Luna, the corridors clean and without adornment. While the rest of her Father's growing Imperium was rife with symbolism and decoration, here there was only efficiency and sterile walls. She knew he preferred it here, from both his words and actions. With the solar system's consolidation under the Imperium, he had spent the last several months here. Throughout the years he had come off and on, but it was only recently that he had dedicated all his time here, leaving the everyday running of the solar system to her and Uncle Malcador.

But now he said he was finished, or nearly so. Now he was back home, taking back the reigns of the Imperium and in general recovering from spending almost a year without sleep. While he was the pinnacle of humanity, almost a god in the form of man, he was still human. He had overtaxed himself a little, and both she and Uncle insisted that he get some rest. He had reluctantly agreed, though he had grumbled about how paperwork and meetings were hardly relaxing.

She had been coming up here for several months while her Father rested back on Terra, checking on them. She always came alone, and the Custodes had agreed to let her do so as long as they watched over her as they guarded the facility. It was her little secret, her forays to the moon. She didn't need guards this close to Terra, and she was hardly a child anymore. Honestly, she was over one hundred years old! Father could be such a worrywart, sometimes. She liked making this trip when she could, to observe the twenty bodies take shape. She wanted to watch them, sing to them while they grew. Sing to her darling little brothers.

{oOo}

In the vastness of the Warp, four great powers converged. Each had form, yet was formless. Each was one, yet also many. They were united, and yet they warred with each other. But now was not the time for war, and all four knew this to be true.

_**YOU HAD BEST BE CORRECT ABOUT THIS, CHANGER,**_ said a voice that could topple mountains with the barest whisper, and yet was shouted with force enough to shatter suns. He was a huge, towering figure clad in armor of brass, and he was also a red energy, pulsing with hate and the urge to shed blood in a never-ending tide.**_ WE WILL NOT WASTE OUR TIME, ESPECIALLY IN THE PRESENCE OF HIM._**

_You do not care for us, oh mighty ruler of blood and skulls?_ said a voice so fine that it could stop a man's heart with but a whisper, not from fear, but from the desire of it. The creature had no gender, yet was both. It was beautiful and terrible, radiant and obscene, a purple miasma that clouded the mind and stimulated the flesh in ways both wondrous and dark. _We find ourselves quite charming, personally._ _Perhaps if you spent a little more time with us instead of your little rampages, you might think differently._

**_DO NOT TRY US, THIRSTER, OR THIS ENDS RIGHT HERE!_**

_**Calm down,**_ burbled the bloated foulness that stood between them. It spoke like pus popping free from a wound, from sores oozing corruption and filth. It was an ancient, vile thing of fat and cuts and putrid fluid. It was a sickly green cloud of mold, creeping everywhere and digging into to everything as it tainted all life. **_We cannot fight amongst ourselves now. As much as we hate to admit it, we agree with the Changer. The little Man God has grown too much of a threat, and his forces are becoming stronger._**

_THaNk yOU, GRAnDFAthER,_ the giant, avian thing said in response. It spoke with many voices a once, their pitches always changing, and to listen to them would lead to understanding of everything, and to madness. It was an ever shifting, mutating blue mass of limbs and feathers, always changing from one moment to the next, whispering promises of power. _WE HAvE SEEN the PatH, And aLL OF yOU KnOW it TOO. WE MuST act NoW, cuT Out thE MAN GOD'S FoRCes BEfOrE ThEY Are GRoWn. WaTCh, We HAvE PrEPAred tHe WAY._

All four turned their titanic, eldritch minds where the Changer directed, peering past the veil that separated the empyrean from the physical. Eight points, eight planets in the far reaches of space, burned with radioactive fire at exactly the same moment. As they burned, the people on those worlds cried in both pain and joy as the sky opened, and the Immaterial met the Material in a tumultuous crash that killed many of them where they danced. Yet despite this, they continued in their revelry. They had done it! The gods had answered them, and they had done as instructed! Now they would be accepted into their realm, free from all the pain and suffering of their mortal lives! They would live forever, and all of space and time would be their playthings as they ruled over all!

Warp energy spilled onto those worlds, breaking reality and laughing in the face of the universe's laws. But this was not all it did. It tore into uncounted billions of men and women, draining them of life, leaving only withered husks that vanished into dust. The multicolored energy sloughed off and slithered through the void, converging into four points that roiled with barely contained malevolence as it rested in material space, leaving charred and lifeless ruin where once stood living worlds.

_It Will NOt LaST LonG, bUT thIs Will ALLoW us To SENd thE SmALLest ShadOW of OuRseLVES inTO thE UNCHANGING MATERIAL. WE cAn Do nO MoRE, AnD noTHIng LeSS is SuFFicient._

**_THEN LET US BE DONE! WE SHALL BREAK THE MAN GOD'S PATHETIC WARDS AND GUT HIS MEWLING SPAWN!_**

_YeS, Of CouRSE…_

{oOo}

As Serenity nodded to Father's guards in her approach to his most guarded sanctum, unhindered by her status and power, she felt a prickling in the back of her mind. This prickling soon grew into incredible pain, and she whimpered at the force of it, like claws raking at her mind. Something was wrong, something was horribly wrong! Reality was screaming. Her brothers were screaming!

Serenity tore through the doors just as four points of colored light sprang into existence, each a different hue. The red one noticed her immediately, and a shimmering, shadowy shape of a grotesque giant roared and struck at her with an explosion of crimson power. Barely in time, she raised her hands and intercepted with a shimmering silver shield, calming the raging inferno the monster thrust at her. The red thing roared as it was pushed back, snarling curses in a guttural tongue that Serenity was thankful she did not understand. She took another step forward, pushing the creature back and making her way into the room. The Custodes who followed her screamed and covered their ears, the sound of the clash rupturing their eardrums and sending them to their knees with psychic pain.

The green one, a shadowy, insubstantial image of flesh barely held together, joined the red one, a sickly lime bloom mingling with the red corona still pushing against her. The pressure increased, and sweat beaded upon Serenity's brow, but still she moved forward, slower now, toward her helpless brothers. Every step was a victory, and it took their clashing power further from the suffering Custodes, increasing the chance that they could gather more help. But what she saw turned this hope to despair.

"No!" she yelled as the blue light, like a giant bird with ever shifting feathers, loom toward her brother's tanks. She increased the flow of power, straining herself even further. Pain, already there with just the presence of these creatures, erupted behind her eyes. She had never pushed herself this hard before, and she could feel her chest tighten under the strain.

It became worse when the purple one, the translucent shape of which looked both male and female, joined the others. Violet force touched sickly lime that mixed with the red inferno, creating a river of power that stopped Serenity cold. The stalemate tore the air itself, forcing it to move in great gusts away from the clashing energies. It was all she could do to hold them off, so focused on this that she didn't even notice the stream of blood pouring from her nose.

_**CHANGER, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?**_ the red one roared, the force behind it rattling the entire facility. **_KILL THEM AND BE DONE WITH IT!_**

_EverYthinG_, the shifting avian murmured as a whirling portal opened above his head. The pods holding the infants tore themselves from the walls and floated slowly into the air. _IS goiNg AcCorDinG TO PLAN._

There was a crack of displaced air, and the Emperor stood behind his daughter, his eyes alight with golden fire. Rage etched itself across his face, like a hurricane in full swing. His aura burst around him like a flare from the sun itself, and the gusting air recoiled away from him in shimmers of heat. With but a wave of his power clawed hand, the writhing Custodes vanished, and he turned his full attention to the battle at hand.

"Father!" Serenity screamed above the maelstrom that the room had become. "Father, stop him! He's taking them away!"

The Emperor paused for the briefest of moments, but for one such as him it was as good as an eternity. His sons were being taken, but Serenity was killing herself holding these three at bay. She was still too young to be harnessing this much of her strength, the stress of it taxing her body beyond anything she had trained for. The next few seconds would determine the lives of those he considered most precious, and in an instant he perceived hundreds of possible paths. He weighed the results of his next actions carefully in his mind, looking at every consequence with speed and precision that would daunt even the greatest of cogitators. And when all that could be considered had been so, he made his decision.

A burst of golden power curved around Serenity's shield and struck the three forces attacking her, scattering the energy that held them to the ether and banishing their minds back to their dark realm. Serenity gasped as the pressure disappeared, and would have fallen to her knees if her father had not caught her.

At the instant the Emperor struck, the twenty capsules thrust through the portal. The whirling vortex vanished with a flash like lightning and a sound like thunder, leaving nothing but a broken room behind. The Emperor roared as he struck the shifting avian monstrosity, which simply allowed itself to dissipate back into the Warp.

_ReMemBER, LittLE MOON GODDESS,_ it whispered into the dying wind. _RemeMBeR ThiS daY. CHAOS is aLwAys hERe, AlWayS WatChing. ReMEMber ThiS. CHAOS ALWAYS WINS._

It's laughter filled the air as Serenity clung to her father, crying into his armor. She shuddered at the sound of it, at the dark promises it held. She shuddered at the inhuman ambition it contained, bleeding madness that would consume the universe in fire and change and war.

_CHAOS ALWAYS WINS._

The Emperor stroked his daughter's hair, soothing her as he channeled his power to scry the vastness of the galaxy, seeking his stolen sons. Serenity cried and shook, holding on to him like a rock in a storm. As she did, he channeled a little of his power to check on her, making sure she was all right. She was exhausted and weak, but this was nothing that sleep and food would not handle in a few days time.

"I couldn't protect them," she whispered, sobs making her voice hitch. "They're gone. My little brothers are gone."

"Gone," her Father said soothingly, one clawed hand resting gently under her chin so she could look him in the eye. "Gone, but alive. I feel them, my child. I feel them scattered across the galaxy. They live, hidden at such distances that not even I am certain where they rest. But they are out there, Serenity, and we will find them."

Serenity's face lit up in joy, fresh tears flowing from her eyes as she hugged the Emperor. "Yes," she whispered as her Father embraced her. "We will find you, my brothers."

_'We will find you, and Chaos shall pay.'_

{oOo}

AN: And here is how the Primarchs where scattered across the galaxy in Lovehammer.

Edit 2: Oh, how I fail _utterly_ at formatting. XD


	3. The Pain of Dreams

{oOo}

Sanguinius was worried. He looked as composed as ever as he made his way to Fulgrim's room, his long steps eating ground as he walked through the regal hallways of his Terran estate, but inside he felt an anxiety that he was unused to. As a Primarch, he normally strode with a confidence that mere mortals could not hope to match, but now he was subdued.

Fulgrim had not slept in almost two months. When Ferrus and Konrad had returned, little under a month ago, they had mentioned that Fulgrim was reluctant to relax, but the winged Primarch didn't think it would go quite this far. Fulgrim was, quite literally, running himself ragged not allowing himself to rest. Their constitutions were immense, but they were finite. He had to sleep sometime.

He had, of course, agreed to look after their brother when Ferrus and Konrad had returned. Ferrus had wanted to stay, but all of them knew that they had to capitalize on the advantage gained in getting Fulgrim back, and both Ferrus's and Konrad's forces were the deepest into enemy territory. Sanguinius scowled. Officially, the Age of Chaos was over, it had been for over two hundred years, but the reality was less pleasant. Chaos cults emerged on planets all the time, causing unrest even on planets they had long since stabilized. Not only that, the Orks were rising again, seeing a moment of weakness to pounce upon both the Imperium and Chaos forces alike in their drunken demand for violence. They were in the tail end of the tumultuous time, and if they were not careful it would come back in force to crush them all.

"Serenity," he whispered. "I wish you were here." But she wasn't. She was hardly ever on Terra, any more. She had to make sure the galaxy held itself together, now that their Father could not move. The Age of Chaos had been bad for everyone, and Father was no exception. He had been injured so badly, his wounds tainted with the stuff of Chaos. Rogal had rushed him to the Throne in an attempt to save his life, which thankfully had proved successful. It had only been in recent decades that Father was actually mobile, able to step off the Throne and move about the Palace for a time, but never for long. Always he would have to step back onto the Throne, to continue his healing.

They didn't know how long it would be until he was whole again.

He allowed himself a sigh, a small measure of his humanity brought to the fore. Even he could feel stress, could feel the pressures of an unfair and uncaring universe. The Chapter System Roboute had suggested had been a boon, in that regard, allowing the Legions to move about with less need for direct supervision from a Primarch. It was this that allowed him to spend time with his brother. He knew he would have to do so for a very long time.

{oOo}

Fulgrim jolted awake, finding himself unable to move. It was like being incased in stone, but that wasn't right, somehow. He was stuck in a pose, like he was holding still for a portrait, and his eyes were locked in front of him, staring into madness.

The daemon woman thing was there, caressing the sides of his prison, which he could see clearly now. He was stuck in a box, a box with a window to the outside world. Beside the woman thing was himself, only not himself. It was some kind of warped, horrific parody that looked upon him with cruel eyes and an even crueler smile.

"Did you really think you were free, little man?" it whispered using his voice, purring like it was on the edge of sexual release. "Did you honestly think that you could escape from Slaanesh?"

"No," he whispered, sheer terror forcing his mouth to move. This couldn't be happening. He was out! Ferrus and Konrad had freed him, had taken him home! He was in Sanguinius's estates, not back in this horrible, torturous, unbearable prison watching his body being played with like a puppet! "No, no no no no! This isn't happening!"

"Oh, but it is. Tell me, what greater torture is there than to give hope and take it away? It was all a dream, my little man, a dream to spice up your delicious torment. If only you could feel what I feel! Your pain is exquisite, and I know just the thing to give it the ultimate flavor."

The thing in his body motioned to the side, where two horrific things that might have once been Astartes pulled a struggling woman with aquamarine hair. Fulgrim gasped, straining every muscle in a vain attempt to get out, to get to her before this thing wearing his flesh could do everything he knew it would do.

"Amphithoe! No! Let her go!"

"Fulgrim!" she shouted, reaching for him before the monstrous Astartes pulled her back. She struck at him, crushing its chest and sending the creature flying backward before the other smashed its fist into the back of her head, dazing her and dropping her to her knees. Five more Astartes entered the room, joining in her restraint.

"Yes, your darling little Amphithoe. I killed her too quickly last time, the rush of having your body making me hasty. But now I have her again, and we can have fun going through all the things that will break her."

The Daemon took out a small knife and, almost gently, cut deep into the flesh of Amphithoe's bicep, and as she screamed Fulgrim screamed with her.

{oOo}

Sanguinius kicked the door in when he heard Fulgrim screaming, blowing it off its hinges and imbedding it into the opposite wall. Fulgrim was in the little cot next to his bed, his back arched till only his shoulders and heels touched the ground, clawing at his face as if he was trying to rip out his eyes.

"Fulgrim! Fulgrim, stop!"

Sanguinius pushed his brother back to the floor, reaching for Fulgrim's hands and, with great effort, pulling them back.

Fulgrim was still sleeping, he noticed with as much surprise as he allowed as he kept his brother from hurting himself. Fulgrim hadn't woken up screaming, Fulgrim was screaming while he was still asleep!

Growling, Sanguinius sat on his brother and forced his arms down, using leverage and weight to his advantage. "Fulgrim, wake up!"

With his hands free, he shook his brother with such force that Fulgrim's head hit the ground and cracked the stone underneath his cot. Fulgrim's eyes shot open, bloodshot and panicked. He shook and hyperventilated, looking everywhere for enemies hiding in the dark. Eventually, Fulgrim calmed himself, his breathing slowing and his eyes focusing on Sanguinius sitting on his chest.

Fulgrim wiggled an arm out from under his brother and, cautiously, reached up to cup his brothers face. Tears flowed from his eyes, dampening the thin mattress beneath his head. "You're real. You're real."

He lunged up, taking Sanguinius off him. The golden haired Primarch kept himself from falling easily, but he couldn't keep his balance as Fulgrim latched onto him, burying his face in his brother's chest.

"I'm out. I'm out I'm out I'm out I'm out."

He kept repeating that, over and over, like some sort of mantra as he cried into Sanguinius's shirt. Slowly, taking great care not to disturb him, the winged Primarch put his arms around his brother, holding him close.

They stayed that way for hours, Fulgrim holding onto his brother as if the angelic Primarch was his one anchor to reality. Yes, Sanguinius thought as his brother gripped him almost to the point of pain. I'll stay with you, brother. You won't have to be alone.

{oOo}

AN: And here is Fulgrim back on Terra after being rescued.


	4. The Silver Knights I

TALES OF LOYALTY: THE SILVER KNIGHTS

_Introduction of the Hunt_

{oOo}

Taran Horal skittered through the back alleys of Tartral IV's primary Hive. He was nervous, as he should be. Hantol Durantus, the Governor, had a strict curfew in place, and any caught breaking it were imprisoned immediately. The trial, if it could be called that, was done in front of a senior member of the Arbites and while the prisoner was under threat of fire.

So for the most part, this explained why he was alone on the streets. Occasionally he would run into a squad of Arbites, but Taran knew all the corners of the Hive, keeping out of sight as the uniformed officers continued their noisy, straightforward trek. Some had said that it was the threat of Chaos that made the Governor impose such strict rules, but Taran honestly didn't care for Durantus or his restrictions. He couldn't allow himself to be caught. He had somewhere important to be, more important than his own life.

Slowly, carefully, he made his way toward the more barren portion of the Hive. This was where the factories dwelled, making anything from cloth to armor for Imperium's voracious needs. They, too, were affected by the curfew, and though the merchants grumbled, they acquiesced to Durantus' demands. Tension was rising, however, and several in both the higher and lower classes chaffed under the Governor's rules. Many thought it only a matter of time before something horrible occurred.

Taran made his way into an old abandoned textile mill, which in better days had been used to make everything from the elaborate gowns of the aristocracy to the uniforms of the Imperial Guard. The chains that held the doors closed were rusted, and it took little effort for him to break them open. He caught the chain before it could hit the ground, careful not to make too much noise.

Much of the equipment had been taken out since the factory had been in use, but there were still a few ominous shapes in the darkness. Towering above him, he would have been a little unnerved if he hadn't been so focused on his goal. He picked out a shadowed corner, fitting himself as deeply as he could, and waited.

Half an hour later the noises started. It was faint, but alone in the darkness Taran could make out footsteps and the clanking of equipment.

The front door burst open, broken apart by an armored boot far too large for any normal man to wear. Two equally huge figures darted inside, bolters at the ready. They surveyed the area before motioning for the others to come in.

They were five in total, each easily eight feet tall. Their armor was like burnished silver, gleaming from the faint illumination coming from the doorway. The only differing colors were their pauldrons, which were black and held the image of a silver sun over a black field, and the golden aquila on their chests. They moved carefully, as if expecting an attack at any moment.

"You!" the lead one said, his voice metallic through his featureless helmet. Those red eyes seemed to pierce through the darkness Taran had hidden himself in. "Come out of the shadows slowly!"

Taran did as he was bid, unable to hide his awe. He scuttled closer to the giants, careful not to make any threatening movements.

"Astartes… Forgive me, honored lords, for any impertinence I may have given you in our communications. I had no idea that you were Astartes."

"As well you didn't," the obvious leader said again as he removed his helmet. His face was covered in scars, a very long and old one curving around his right eye, and his black hair had been trimmed to a single long ponytail. On his upper lip was a long, thin mustache, carefully trimmed and maintained. This, along with his sharp eyes and tan skin, made it very obvious to any learned man of the marine's origins. "If you had known, we would not be doing our duties correctly."

"You're from Chogoris," Taran said slowly. He was still trying to get his bearings around this obviously unplanned development.

"Yes. I am Arya Temujin, a son of the steppes of Chogoris. But that was a long time ago, and we come to speak of different things."

"Of course, of course. The information you wanted. It took me three years of digging, but I finally found some signs of what you're looking for. Segmentum Ultima is a big place, after all. I'm surprised I managed to find anything at all!"

"Cease your prattling and tell us what we need to know," growled a marine holding a very dangerous looking hammer. Taran quailed and cringed back, and would have tried to blend into the shadows again if he thought it would do any good.

"Calm yourself, Brother Amadeus," their leader said before Taran had moved more than one step back. "We have been hunting for five years, a few moments more will matter little."

"Yes, Brother Sergeant."

"Now," Arya continued. "I believe you have something to tell us."

"Yes," Taran said, stepping forward with a manic grin. He seemed much more sure of himself, now, far less scared or reserved. He spread his hands wide, and the other entrances burst open as people piled in. There were easily fifty of them, screaming adulations to their foul masters and all armed to the teeth. Some frothed at the mouths, obviously so far out of their minds on drugs or bloodlust that they didn't care what happened around them so long as they could kill something. "I have come to tell you your quest is in vain, and your souls will be fed to the true gods!"

"Traitor!" a marine with a power claw over his right hand shouted, his accent coarse and guttural. "I will see ye burn for this!"

"Take cover!" Arya shouted, putting word to action as las and stub rounds peppered the ground around them. The marines scattered, taking cover behind various pieces of machinery. Taryan laughed and ran off, delighting in the marine's inability to stop him.

"Brother Brax," Arya called to the marine with two large mechendrites coming from his back. "Grenade!"

"Affirmative."

Picking a large, bulky grenade from his belt, the techmarine threw it into the oncoming horde. It was bigger than a standard grenade, and looked like an octagon rather than the usual pineapple. It hit the ground right in front of the horde, and in their rush to get at the marines they didn't notice it until it detonated a few seconds later.

The explosion was huge, the shockwave shattering every piece of glass in the building as shrapnel and fire ripped through the bodies of the oncoming cultists. Most died immediately, the survivors screaming as whole body parts were blown away. The marines kept their heads down behind their shelter, but even they could feel the shock wave caving in the metal they had taken cover with. The supports holding the machinery down creaked and groaned, a few coming lose entirely from the power of the blast.

"Yes!" the techmarine shouted, exulting in the explosion. "Another success!"

"Your 'custom' grenades will be the death of me, one day," Amadeus muttered as he hefted his hammer. The bomb had done its work, with all of their attackers either dead or dying. Most of the room was a charred ruin now, and the smell of burnt flesh permeated every fiber of the place.

"Ah, lay off him. It did tha job," the power clawed marine said as they came out of cover. "Ye need ta relax, Brother."

"You would say that, Trygg."

"Hold," the final one of their number, a marine holding an aged wooden staff, called as he peered at the dead. "There is something wrong here."

"What do you feel, Brother Gahiji?"

"That which should not be."

Two of the bodies shambled to their feet again, wounds closing as they did so. Their mouths were stuck in rictus grins, and from their lips poured horrible laughter that hurt the ear. The air seemed to warp around them, and they floated a few inches off the ground. Their skin bulged with muscle, as if it could barely contain the things inside them, and their nails grew into claws. Electricity crackled along their taut skin skin, emanating from otherworldly sources. If one was sensitive enough, one might hear the scream of reality itself. A scream of terror at the existence of such abhorrent monstrosities that should never have come to be in any sane universe.

"Daemonhosts," Arya spat. He put his helmet back on and drew his power sword. "Brothers Amadeus, Trygg and Brax, to the left! Brother Gahiji and I shall take the one on the right!"

"Affirmative!"

Trygg charged his foe first, his power claw activating in a field of crackling power. Amadeus was just a step behind him, holding his thunder hammer in a ready position. Brax leveled his bolter and gave them cover fire, but most of the rounds never reached their target, small explosions breaking in the air a foot from the advancing daemonhost.

One bolt round hit its shoulder, exploding and taking the thing's arm off. It merely laughed and sent out waves of fire at his enemies, the arm already re-attaching from strings of flesh. Amadeus dove to the left, barely avoiding the fire, while Trygg merely ducked under it, intent on reaching the foe first.

Meanwhile, Arya had already reached the other abomination, his power sword deep in its chest. The weapon's power field disintegrated the thing's flesh, but its meat and bone kept regenerating at a hellish rate. Arya growled and shot the thing's legs with his bolter, the rounds blowing huge holes in its body. The legs held on by only threads, but those threads were rapidly growing and reconnecting.

"_Foolish man-thing!_" it growled as it clutched Arya's helmet. Its claws ran groves in his armor, and the strength of the bound daemon ensured Arya could not escape. "_I will enjoy picking your soul apart._"

Which was when the crackling wooden staff erupted through the thing's head.

"I do not think so," Gahiji said as the creature fell lifelessly to the ground.

At the same time, Trygg had reached his opponent and was tearing it apart. He alternated between slashing and shooting, his claws ripping open flesh while his bolter kept the thing off balance. Brax kept up his cover fire, distracting the monster between two opponents. It screeched and sent out gouts of flame and electricity, but ultimately it hit nothing as the two marines maintained their assault. Bolt rounds kept coming through its shields, forcing it to repair itself and preventing it from attacking with its full power. With a roar that shook the building, it finally managed to bat Trygg aside, sending the marine flying through the air and into one of the larger pieces of textile machinery.

And then Amadeus hit it from behind with his thunder hammer, its power field exploding with shimmering blue energy and sending the monster careening toward Trygg. The marine had gotten back on his feet by this point, howling with his power claw held forward. Momentum, and the weapon's sparking field, cut the foul thing in half. It clawed weakly at the air, fitfully trying to summon its legs back.

Amadeus caved in its skull with such force that the ground underneath it cratered, the concrete splintering like so much plywood under the power of his strike.

"Sound off," Arya called. "Injuries?"

"I am fine," Gahiji assured him.

"I am operating normally," Brax responded.

"As am I," said Amadeus.

"It cracked my ribs a little. I'll be fine in a day," Trygg mumbled out.

"You got hurt because you charged in before I could get in position," Amadeus noted.

"Aye, aye. I've heard ye before. I'll be more careful next time."

"It only scored my armor a little," Arya broke in, cutting the two off from an old argument. "So I'll be fine as soon as Brother Brax makes sure everything is running smoothly."

"Of course."

"Now, let's go talk to our little traitor."

They found Taran cowering in a corner of the facility, his foot blown off by Brax's bomb. He whimpered as Trygg lifted him off the ground, the marine being none to gentle in his treatment.

"I said I'd see ye burn, filth."

"Please, please spare me! I meant to be loyal, I did! But they came to me in the night, did… did such horrible things to me! I had to submit! I had to!"

"No," Arya growled as he stepped forward. "You did not. Better to have died than to give in to Chaos."

"I have the information! I can tell you what you need!"

"And risk you sending us into another ambush? No. We have surer ways of getting what we need from you."

Gahiji stepped forward, taking off his helmet to reveal a bald head with several augmetics attached. His staff held in his right hand, he placed his left upon the squirming, miserable Taran.

"If I should fall, ensure I fall alone."

Arya, Brax and Amadeus leveled their bolters on him.

"Of course, Brother."

Eyes crackling with arcane might, Gahiji forced himself into Taran's mind, peeling away the layers piece by piece. It was like acid scouring away filth, wiping clean corruption and revealing only the purest of substances. It was not a gentle process, and Taran could feel the Librarian pulling apart his ego to leave nothing but bare, unvarnished truth behind. Taran could, vaguely, hear someone screaming. With his last conscious thoughts he realized that the sound was coming from his own throat.

Gahiji lifted his hand away, wiping it on his armor instinctively as if to wipe away dirt.

"He had the information we sought. The rebirth happened in the Effrenus Sector, on the Eastern Fringe. Beyond that, he knew nothing."

"And he will know nothing more," Trygg growled as he snapped Taran's neck. The man fell to the ground bonelessly; life leaving him swifter than the time it took his body hit the floor.

"Come, Brothers," Arya said as he turned for the door. "As soon as we notify the Governor he was right to fear Chaos infiltration, we must be on our way. The hunt continues."

{oOo}


	5. The Silver Knights II

TALES OF LOYALTY: THE SILVER KNIGHTS

_Obstacles Are Not Tolerated_

{oOo}

"Well, you appear to be coming along nicely. Your ribs appear to be in fine condition. Your armor managed to protect you from most of the force behind that strike."

Trygg grumbled a little as Brax poked at his broadly muscled naked chest, blowing out his short red mustache as he did so. He had to be out of armor for this, sitting on a box of cargo to allow Brax a better angle of observation. The marine was wearing only a pair of loose pants and boots, the cuffs lined with fur, sitting on a small piece of cargo to allow Brax better ease of observation. "That's great, now will ye stop poking at me? I'm worried about my armor."

"Oh, you don't need to be," Brax commented without looking up. He was holding a dataslate with a mechendrite and tapped on it idly while he continued to prod at Trygg's chest. His eyes had been replaced with small, circular mechanical ones tinted a green color, and it was obvious that with them he could easily see from multiple angles at once. "It's just dented a little, almost superficial damage, really. I'll buff it out and make sure nothing is blocking the power flow."

"It wouldn't have happened at all if you had waited for me," Amadeus called as he did forms with his hammer. Trygg growled and stood up, startling Brax a little and forcing the techmarine to stumble back.

"I said I'd be more careful next time, so lay off it!"

Amadeus stopped working his forms and turned fully to Trygg, but Arya moved between them.

"That is quite enough of that. I'll not have you two butting heads. I have a hard enough time convincing the captain to keep us onboard without you two knocking holes in the walls."

"Yes, Brother Sergeant," the two marines muttered before backing down. Arya sighed and rubbed his head, a tick he had developed over the years. He knew the two wouldn't actually go that far, the two men had saved each other's lives countless times before, but they still flared up occasionally. Outsiders wouldn't understand. They would think that the marines would come to blows, and that frightened them. Arya had to make sure that the people giving them transport continued to do so. It was aggravating, making sure everything ran smoothly, but one could not shirk duty.

With the situation dealt with, he walked to the opposite side of their small corner of the cargo bay. Gahiji was there, meditating in front of a small candle, his staff placed across his crossed legs. Arya stood silently some distance away, trying to avoid disturbing the psychic marine. He knew this was most likely in vain, the marines senses infinitely more advanced and multitude than even a normal Astartes' advanced abilities, but it was the polite thing to do. Gahiji responded without opening his eyes.

"I feel you, Brother. Do you require something?"

"I was wondering if your meditations had revealed anything to you."

"Yes, in a way. Now that I have a smaller section of space to observe, I can feel traces of what we are looking for. A sector, while huge, is much more manageable than an entire segmentum."

"Then can you pinpoint the location?"

Gahiji shook his head and opened his eyes, looking at his commanding officer directly. "I cannot. It has been years since the event occurred, and with the ever shifting of the Warp it is akin to rain and wind scattering tracks on a trail. I can feel parts of it, feel that it indeed happened there, but beyond that I am blind. I am unsure that Senshi Ira, or even the Princess herself, would be able to narrow the search given the amount time elapsed. We would need someone who was in the region of space at the time in order to truly focus our search further."

"Then that is most likely our best course of action. Remind me, how many contacts do we have in the Effrenus Sector?"

"Not very many. The region borders on Ork space. In all truth, it's more than a little untamed."

"We will have to make do with what we have then. Thank you, Brother Gahiji."

"Of course, Brother."

Arya walked back to the Astartes sized chair that had been set-aside for him, a large data slate set on a sizeable storage container that served as a desk. There was little to do as they traveled through the Warp, and that always put him on edge. He wanted to do something, but there were only so many times you could do drills before it ceased being meaningful exercise and instead became mere passing of time.

_Time,_ he mused as he looked over the data slate. _Such a strange thing, really, especially in the Warp._ They had been traveling for almost four days, by standard Terran reckoning. The star chart on his slate informed him they would reach the Effrenus Sector soon. He idly tapped on the device, looking over old logs. As he perused all that had happened in the past five years, it brought back memories of why they were hunting in the first place.

{oOo}

_They knelt before her, their princess, shining silver armor gleaming in the light of the luminators. She was clad austerely, not in the flowing garments she would normally wear in more peaceful times. She was clad in a green dress that went to her ankles and a white blouse. No jewelry adorned her throat or forehead, no rings rested upon her fingers. This was no a ball or meeting with dignitaries. This was much more serious business, and it was obvious to the Astartes kneeling in front of her that what she was about to say was of the gravest import._

_His men knelt behind him, every one with their helmets resting by their sides. It would have been an insult to hide their faces from Serenity. By her side was Primarch Horus, his mechanical arms crossed as he studied them. He kept his expression neutral, but Arya knew that he was measuring them, observing details on such a level that it would baffle even the mightiest Astartes in its precision and complexity. He wondered, surely as his men did, why they were here. To meet with either of the Princess or the Warmaster personally would be a great honor, but together it was far too much._

"_I'm sure you are wondering why you are here," Serenity said as she approached them. She grabbed Arya's arm and pulled him up, smiling at his shocked expression. "Please, all of you stand. We are not on the parade ground. There is no need for ceremony."_

_Arya briefly glanced at the Warmaster, who merely smiled a small smile and shrugged. His men stood up hastily, unsure of what was going on._

"_Milady, I know it is not my place, but the thought had crossed my mind. May I speak freely?"_

"_Of course, Sergeant."_

"_Milady, were we not to join our brothers on a campaign against Chaos rebellion in Segmentum Tempestus? I do not understand why you have summoned us."_

"_Tell me," Horus broke in as he stepped forward. He towered over Serenity, over the Astartes, looking down at Arya and his men. "Is it true what they say, and that your squad is among the best hunters in all the Knights? That there is no object or enemy you cannot locate?"_

"_Begging yer pardon, milord," Trygg broke in. "But that's not quite accurate."_

"_Oh?"_

"_We're not among tha best, we're tha very best. If there's something ta be found, be it friend or foe, we find it."_

"_What my Brother is trying to say," Amadeus cut in. "Is that we're very good at our job."_

_Trygg gave Amadeus a wry glance, which Amadeus responded to with stoic silence. The fiery haired marine shook his head with a grin and turned his attention back to the front. _

"_That is very good," Serenity said as her expression grew more serious. "Because there is something very special that we need you to find. Find, and keep safe."_

"_Name it, and it shall be done."_

"_Senshi Esin will be reborn soon. I have seen it in my dreams, and Father has confirmed it. You are to find her."_

_Arya could not contain his gasp, and he was not the only one. Even normally composed Brax stood with his jaw dropped. Gahaji wasn't much better, though he recovered faster._

"_But, Milady, how is this possible? Forgive my ignorance, but I had always believed that reincarnation was impossible due to the nature of the Warp."_

"_It normally is, but it is easier when one bypasses the Warp entirely."_

_Brax had finally found his voice by this point, as this revelation had put Gahiji into a near stuttering stupor. "Is that possible? I mean no disrespect, milady, but this goes against almost everything known about Immaterial matters."_

"_It is exceedingly rare, but it is true. Esin's soul did not travel through the Warp, but somewhere else. This, too, I saw in my dream. She will be returning soon."_

"_And she will be defenseless," Horus put in. The Warmaster's face was serious as well, a fearsome thing that made even brave Trygg shuffle back a fraction. "I've found in my experience, especially in recent times, that it is best to assume your enemy knows more than you. We must assume that the forces of Chaos also know that she is returning, or that they soon will. You must find her before they do and return her to Terra."_

"_Milord, I can't help but disagree with your decision," Amadeus cut in. "This is a matter of grave importance! You should be sending out more than just a tactical squad!"_

"_We cannot stress resources unduly," Serenity said calmly, her tone silencing Amadeus better than a shout ever could. "Troubles in Segmentum Obscurus demand the bulk of our attention, and what is left is being used to maintain order everywhere else."_

"_Not only this, but if we use a large force to hunt for her then we risk attracting undue attention. You must be vigilant, but above all you must seek for her without attracting too much notice. You have to keep a few steps ahead of our enemies."_

_Arya bowed, and a split second later his men followed suit. "Where, then, shall we hunt, milady?"_

"_Go to Segmentum Ultima, Sergeant Temujin. That is where you must hunt. Let no obstacles bar your path."_

{oOo}

The sound of one of the nearby cargo doors opening shook Arya from his memories. He placed the slate down and looked up, catching the eye of the captain as he walked in. The man was short and stocky, and he walked with a slight limp, his left leg having been replaced with a clunky augmetic. His hair had more grey than black in it by this point, but the man appeared to have kept himself in reasonable shape despite his apparent age. At his side were two of his best men, members of the ship's peacekeeping force. The Surety of Purpose was not a large ship by any means, barely the size of a frigate, but even the smallest ships needed some form of guard to ensure the protection of crew and cargo.

"Captain Klausen. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I came to inform you that we will be returning to real space soon, and we shall be docking at the planet Fangrock. I am also here to inform you that I shall go no further into the Eastern Fringe than here."

Arya quirked an eyebrow and stood up, looking down at the captain. "Is that so? Not that I would presume to question your authority on your ship, captain, but may I ask why?"

If Klausen was at all imposed by the towering figure of an Astartes in power armor, he didn't show it. His men fidgeted and gripped their weapons a little tighter, but the captain spoke up before it went further than that. "The Eastern Fringe is barely civilized, and going much further into the Effrenus Sector is a fools errand. I transport goods all over the Segmentum, which is why I agreed to take your men wherever you needed to go. But I draw the line here! I'll not have my ship and crew attacked by Orks, pirates or worse."

Arya took a deep breath, keeping his face impassive. He understood the captain's concerns. They were reasonable considering this was a civilian ship of no great size, so he did not let his annoyance show. His men were having a harder time of it. Trygg looked furious, and Amadeus' eyes narrowed as he shifted his grip on his hammer. Even Brax was stroking his chin as in contemplating something. Something related to the captain and those standing with him. Only Gahaji seemed unaffected, though he had opened his eyes from his meditations.

"Captain, perhaps we should discuss this further in private? I think-"

"There is nothing to discuss. I dock at Fangrock, and if you wish to go further into this backwater you'll have to find some other ship."

There was a slight shifting in the air, and everyone in the room felt the pit of their stomachs flip a little. The ship had just gone out of warp jump.

There was a beeping in Klausen's pocket, and he pulled out a small hand slate. On the screen was a younger helmsman; obviously new at his job but responsible enough that the captain felt he could leave him alone at the wheel.

"**Warp jump completed, sir. No complications."**

"Good. Ease us in toward Fangrock, Geral. No need to keep the burners on too long, momentum will take us there in just a few hours. Now-"

There was a beep on the other end, and Geral turned away from the pict recorder to look at it. **"Uh, sir. There appears to be another ship nearby. Small thing, and I'm not getting any ident codes from it. Sending hails…"**

Klausen's face took on an expression of horror. "Increase power to the void shields you daft idiot! Hurry! They're pi-"

The entire ship shook as a massive impact, and there was a sound like thunder as the void shields were overloaded. Secondary explosions rocked the vessel afterward, and the lights shuttered.

"Brax!" Arya called out. Reaching for his helmet. He kept it under one arm.

"On it!" the techmarine responded as he went to the doors and hit the switch. It refused to open. Brax frowned and plugged one of his mechendrites into a nearby socket, his head moving as he read information crossing across his synthetic eyes. "Power to the doors is down in this section. Life support still operational, but it appears that we're dead in space right now. The starboard thrusters have been disabled. All we can do is fly in circles right now."

"Damn!" Klausen muttered. "Damn! This is exactly what I wanted to avoid!"

The captain pulled up his slate again, but the screen frizzled in static before switching to something much different than the command deck. The area on the other end was dark, and full of pointed spikes decorating the walls. A figure sat on a throne at the other end of the screen, taking up most of the picture. A long, tapered helmet going up to a point at the top hid his face. Its eyes were red, and the metal made of a sickly green substance. It was obviously some sort of armor, and he was covered from head to toe in it.

"**Ah,**" came a ringing, airy voice on the other end. The helmet barely added any interference at all. **"So this is how your communication systems work. Primitive."**

"I am Captain Klausen of _The Surety of Purpose_. State your-"

"**Do not speak, worm,"** the figure on the other end said. By this time Arya had tuned his larger slate in to the ship's communications and was listening in. **"You have no right to it. All you are is chattel, as is everyone else on board your ship. Make peace with this fact." **

He held up a small box, lined with runes and with a writhing, tortured face on it. **"This is a taste of your fate,**" he said before moving away from the pict recorder and throwing the box to the floor.

"Cover your ears!" Gahaji shouted, following his own advice. Every one of the marines managed to place their hands over their ears just as a horrible shriek erupted from every receiving device on the ship. The force behind it was incredible, and the marines could not stop the pain from showing on their faces. Even their Lyman's Ear could not filter everything, and their fingers barely held back any of the horrible shriek. Klausen and his men shook as if in the grip of a seizure before falling to the ground unconscious.

Eventually it ended, and the ship was silent. Arya shakily steadied himself with a hand on a cargo crate, as did the other members of his team.

"Dark Eldar," Trygg growled. "Scum."

"Indeed," Brax said from his position near the door. "From the looks of it, I would say a small raiding party."

"We cannot let them interfere with our mission!" Amadeus said as he put his helmet on.

"You are correct. Two teams. Brother Gahiji, with me. Brothers Amadeus and Brax, you are to flank them after we draw their attention. As soon as you get the door open we're moving out."

Trygg reached for his armor, but Araya stopped him with a raised hand. "Hold. I have another mission for you, Trygg."

{oOo}

They marched along the corridors without fear, ten in all, weapons held ready but in an easy grip. After all, no one could possibly withstand the effects of an Archangel of Pain without the protection of sound dampening technology. The puny Mon'keigh could not hope to have such things. They were a weak, pitiful species. Their only saving grace was their numbers, infesting the galaxy in uncountable trillions. A few culled here and there would hardly matter, and their lives were better used to preserve the only real important beings in existence.

The fact of their weakness was constantly reaffirmed by the unconscious bodies they came across, prone figures of crewmembers knocked out by the bound daemon that had resided within the weapon. Manacles were snapped on every one they found, to be collected at their leasure after they had a clear idea of the ship's cargo. Slaves were necessary, vitally so, but almost as important were the materials on board the ship. Primitive and weak the Mon'keigh technology might be, but certain things could be cannibalized and used for their superior technology. Their empire had once ranged across the entire galaxy, and even weakened as they were the True Eldar were greater than any other species. Their lesser kin were nothing, cowards who had abandoned their former glory. These cattle were nothing, vermin to be used for their comfort.

Many went without helmets, though they were clipped at their belts. This was so they could better hear and taste the discomfort of their victims as they pressed their cruel binds upon them. The cuffs were inlaid with small spikes, sharp enough to pierce skin but dull enough so that it would not cause lasting damage, only a constant source of agony whenever they moved. The Mon'keigh squirmed in their unconscious state, instinctively trying to get away from the source of their pain. They laughed at that. It was so amusing to see these bugs struggle.

They turned a corner, steadily approaching their goal. Their initial attack appeared to have knocked out some portions of the ship's lighting system, another example of their inferiority. It made no difference. The True Eldar could see almost as well in darkness as in light, and it did not impede their progress.

A huge hand reached out and grabbed one of the rearguard, the one at the very end, pulling him away from his fellows. He inhaled to shout, but the giant who had grabbed him spat into the dark warrior's open mouth, cutting off his cry to a gurgle as the acidic saliva ate at the alien's trachea. Working through the pain, fighting to remain conscious, he tried to slash with weapon's melee attachments, but his hulking attacker grabbed the thing and slammed it into his throat. Already maimed, his windpipe completely caved in. He dropped his weapon, clutching at his neck as he vainly tried to breath. Huge arms wrenched his neck at an impossible angle, and no longer did he have to worry about such things.

Trygg smiled as he looked down at the body, happy to be doing something instead of just sitting around. He rooted through the alien's equipment. Most of it was useless, too awkward for him to travel with without making noise. But some of it had potential.

"Nice knife," Trygg muttered as he took the blade from the belt of the corpse. He looked at the edge, testing it on a piece of his dead victim's armor. It cut through easily. "Very nice knife."

Smiling wider, Trygg pulled himself back into the ship's ventilation system, making sure to not get stuck. He had more work to do.

{oOo}

"What do you mean the rearguard is gone?"

Drazhar was furious. This was supposed to be simple. There was no way any of these pathetic creatures could have resisted their initial attack, but that was exactly what his miserable lackey was reporting.

"Honored superior, they are just gone. All three of our rear support have disappeared. I fear that some of the vermin might still be awake."

"Not possible. More likely they went off by themselves for some personal looting. By the damned souls of the Warp, I will show them they cannot get away with such disrespect!"

"I'm not so sure."

He leaned forward and knocked the lackey back for his impudence, which was the only thing that kept the bolter round from blowing his skull to bits. The round hit the wall, the impact making a crater, and shrapnel embedded itself in his helmet. The force of it knocked him off balance, and he only barely got himself behind a corner to avoid the continuing fire. His lackey was not so lucky, multiple rounds tearing through his armor and turning him into a fine mist.

Before he had dove for cover, Drazhar had seen them, hulking giants in silver armor. There were two of the Mon'keigh's Astartes. So his lackey had been correct after all, not that it mattered. He growled and leveled his blaster at them, making sure the corner provided the best amount of protection, his warriors following up with their splinter weaponry. Soon enough the outnumbered behemoths were pinned down, and they made their advance slowly but surely upon them.

Then bolter fire came from the side, down another hallway. They ripped into two more of sadistic creatures, cratering the stomach of one and tearing another's arm off at the elbow. He screamed and tried to get further behind cover. Drazhar responded to such cowardice by kicking him back into the open, where the explosive rounds tore him into little shreds.

"Shoot from cover, from behind the corners!" he shouted to his remaining three warriors. The initial shock of these larger vermin's appearance was gone now, and he knew that he could win this if he fought intelligently, or at least escape. Soon enough, they managed to hold their position via carefully maintained covering fire so he could use his superior weapon against the Mon'keigh. Drazhar's blaster tore huge gouges in the walls, its antimatter rounds easily tearing through metal like paper. He alternated between both groups, and with the cover fire of his remaining subordinates slowly went back they way they had come down the corridor.

"That weapon is troublesome," Amadeus growled as he ducked to the side to avoid another shot from it. It ripped along the walls like the nail of some colossal beast. "Do you think you can tag him with a grenade?"

"Not with the standard stuff," Brax answered before shooting off a few rounds. He went back behind the wall before shards of crystal could hit him. "We're pinned at too bad an angle. The blast might get a few of the ones giving cover fire, but then he'll get us with that cannon he's got."

"What if you use your stronger explosives?"

"Do you honestly want me to poke another hole in the ship?"

Drazhar smiled under his helmet. It was working! Soon enough they would break away from their enemies and get back to their Doomfire bomber. After that, they'd get back to the main ship return with reinforcements. He wasn't about to let these filthy mongrels get away with this humilation!

"Hey, xeno," came a voice from above. Drazhar looked up just as two pineapple shaped objects fell from an open grate in the ceiling. A red furred Mon'keigh of great size was smiling from where they had come. "This is fer ye."

Trygg closed the grate and scuttled down the vent, getting a way just a few seconds before the explosion tore through the hapless Dark Eldar. At such close range, the shrapnel ripped through their armor and clawed out chunks of flesh. The shock wave sent their broken bodies flying, hitting the walls around them and showering the floor with rapidly crystalizing blood.

The fiery haired marine dropped down from another grate some way away, inspecting his handiwork. "Nice plan, Brother Sergeant. They didn't even know what hit them."

"Indeed," Gahiji said as he looked down at the broken, cooling corpses. He prodded one with his staff, flipping him over. The alien's face was stuck in an expression of incredulous surprise. "Still, the presence of Dark Eldar is troubling, even in the Eastern Fringe."

"That may be, but it doesn't have anything to do with us. The mission is too important. Let's destroy their ship and get the crew up and running. Our duty isn't finished yet."

{oOo}

AN: And here is part two, wherein we learn the reason for this auspicious hunt.


	6. The Silver Knights III

TALES OF LOYALTY: THE SILVER KNIGHTS

_Allies Against the Dark_

{oOo}

Fangrock was, to any outside observer, an unassuming agriworld floating in the barely colonized Effrenus Sector. It held several mountains, each like a fang and thus explaining the planet's name, but the inhabitants merely used the rising slopes to grow different crops. Most of the planet was used for farmland in one form or another, supplying food for several planets in the Sector.

The shuttle eased down onto one of the landing pads at the spaceport, located at one of the few real hives the planet possessed. The ramp descended, and men began unloading cargo into the various ground cars that had lined up near the edge of the pad. Five armored figures strode down, staying out of the way of the workingmen. Their helmets were clipped at their belts, and they reveled in the open air after almost a week cooped up in a starship's stagnant atmosphere.

It was mid afternoon, and the local star shown high and bright, shining through the sparse cloud covering. A light breeze went through the port, almost unnoticeable with the roar of spacecraft and the bustle of men.

Trygg growled under his breath after they were a ways away from the shuttle and the noise. He idly tapped his power claw, currently turned off, on his newly repaired chest plate and turned to his sergeant. "I cannot believe tha bastard still refused to give us further transport after we saved tha lot of them."

Arya shook his head. "It doesn't matter. We need to spend time on the planet searching for leads anyway, and we can find another ship after that."

"I concur," Brax put in. They were almost to the door leading inside to the port proper. "We're closer now than we've ever been."

Arya nodded. "Just a little further now," he whispered, barely audible even without the noise. "Just a little more time."

"You may have less time than you believe, Astartes."

The voice was light, airy, almost musical in its pitch. Arya and his men looked to the side. Waiting near the door, almost as if hiding, were five Eldar. But they were not like the ones they had so recently disposed of back on _The Surety of Purpose_. Unlike their darker kin, this group was clad in dark blue armor, and all but one wore a light green, pointed helmet. The majority of them held thin, almost artistic looking rifle in their hands. The one whose head was bare gripped a tall spear tasseled with a red cloth covered in strange runes. Her hair was red like fire, hiding the tips of her pointed ears, and she looked at the Marines with green eyes that seemed far older than they should be.

"Eldar," Arya responded politely. "You are from the Alaitoc Craftworld, yes? If not, you are far from your home, unless another Craftworld has moved close to this space recently."

"We are indeed from Alaitoc, Astartes. I am Farseer Anagantieth Alaifir, and I foresaw your coming here. We have come to you to offer trade."

Arya frowned. "Eldar, I apologize, but we have not come to this planet for merchant reasons. We have a mission, and we must be to it."

Nodding to respectfully show he considered the conversation over, Arya continued to walk, motioning for his men to do the same.

"I know of your mission, Astartes. We seek not the trade of goods, but of favors. We can aid you."

Arya stopped in midstep, turning around. Brax spoke before he could. "You know of our mission? What aid could you give us?"

Anagantieth smiled. "Come with us to our shuttle, Astartes. It is a better place to conduct business."

His men looked to him, and Arya gave the Eldar's words several seconds of thought. Finally, he nodded, and they followed the group to a long, blue ship that resembled very much some kind of winged fish, smooth and lacking in harsh angles. It held several gun ports, at least five that could be seen, but that did not give the Marines pause. After all, the Imperium followed a similar policy.

There were more Eldar inside, but not many. Five more armed and armored troopers were in the cargo hold, and a few workers went about doing some job or another. The five saluted the Farseer, and she responded with a nod that they took for permission to be at ease.

"Come," she said over her shoulder. "This ship has a small lounge that we may conduct our business in."

They went a short ways into the ship. It was strange, crafted from some substance that resembled ivory, though it came in several different colors. It could only have been wraithbone, the substance upon which all of Eldar society was built. Gahiji looked around, his eyes widening a little at his surroundings. Amadeus nudged his arm lightly. "Are you all right?"

Gahiji shook his head as if to clear it. "Yes, thank you, I am fine. It's just… It is almost as if the ship is singing."

"That is because it does, Astartes," Anagantieth said as she opened a door leading to a larger room with several chairs. A table stood in the center of it. "We sing to it, and it responds in kind. Very few humans have heard its call, though more and more are gaining the capability. Your species grows stronger."

Gahiji nodded at the compliment and made his way into the room. Arya was already inside, and the others followed suit. Trygg shifted a little before finally speaking.

"All right, we've come on ta yer ship, now enough with tha riddles. Tell us what ye know."

Anagantieth smiled. "So impatient, yet you hold it in. Be careful, for simply bottling your feelings will only make them come out more harshly when they erupt."

Trygg growled a little and opened his mouth again, but the Farseer lifted a hand and cut him off. "No riddles. We know your mission. You seek the reborn Senshi Esin. I know exactly where she is, and I will lead you to her if you agree to my trade."

"How do you know this?" Arya questioned, his eyes narrowing. "How can we trust you?"

"I was relatively near when the event occurred. When she came into being, it was like a roaring hurricane erupting across a plain of grass, resounding in my mind. And yet at the center, where she lay, there was only a gentle breeze moving softly across an endless sky. It was only for a moment, but it was… magnificent." She gave Arya another little smile. She seemed to do that a lot. "It happened a little over two of your years ago. As for truth, why would I endanger our pact with the Imperium with a lie? It has done nothing but help us."

"I demand that you tell us where she is!" Arya said, his voice rising. His men looked at him with faint surprise. Their sergeant almost never raised his voice outside of combat, and they had never seen him lose composure like this.

"A raiding party of our dark kin have invaded this system," Anagantieth went on, unconcerned with Arya's shout. "Under the Pax Imperialis, my Craftworld is allowed free trade and protection within the Imperium so long as we supply aid against its enemies. In this area of space, that would be the Orks. This entire sector is always under threat by them, and so we are always supplying aid in one form or another. Between this and defending our own Craftworld, this leaves merchant ships of both our species undefended. That is our proposed trade. Help us destroy the raiding party and we will take you to the planet Senshi Esin resides."

"I refuse!" Arya shouted. "You will tell me her location now! I will not be forced into this!"

"Forced? Do you take me for Biel-tanese? You have a choice."

"There is no choice, only the mission. Tell me!"

"I am asking you to save human and Eldar lives. Why are you-"

"Brother Gahiji!" Arya interrupted. "Take it from her mind!"

"Sir?"

"Do it!"

Gahiji nodded, more than a little disturbed by his commanding officer's outburst. His eyes glowed as he worked his power, but from the look on his face he didn't seem to be making much progress. Anagantieth frowned, looking back at the psychic Marine. Gahiji gritted his teeth, sweat straining his brow as put more energy into his reading.

"Our talents go similar paths, Astartes," Anagantieth said coolly. "And you are strong. But there are differences between us."

Her eyes flashed, and Gahiji fell back gasping for air. Trygg and Brax caught him as he collapsed, and Amadeus confronted her.

"What did you do to him?"

"I merely showed him the difference between centuries and millennia."

"So… So old…" Gahiji muttered, grasping his skull. He shivered in a cold sweat, breathing heavily with his eyes wide open, staring at nothing. Trygg gave him a little shake. This seemed to snap out of it a little, his breath slowing and becoming more even, much to his comrade's relief.

"You do not know the Dark Eldar as we do, Astartes," the Farseer continued. "They smell weakness here, and they will exploit it. They will attack in greater numbers until nothing is left but ruins, corpses and slaves. As long as they are not confronted, they will continue to raid until they have bled these planets dry. I am asking you to help us prevent this!"

Arya snarled, leveling his bolter at the Eldar, who stood calmly down the face of the barrel. She merely quirked a thin eyebrow at the weapon, almost appearing bemused. Her warriors shifted a little, but the smallest of motions from her hand stopped them.

"Tell me, damn you!"

She shook her head, exhaling before looking him in the eye. Old eyes met ancient ones, and her gaze pierced through him.

"I foresaw this, knew it was the most likely outcome, and yet I am still amazed. Are you not an Astartes, the pinnacle of humanity? Are you not of the Silver Knights, among the greatest of your peers? Do I, honestly, have to convince you to save human lives?"

Arya flinched as if struck, and his weapon shook in his hand. "Do not presume to inform me of my duties! You know nothing about us!"

"You are of the Grail Paladins Chapter of the Silver Knights, and your duty is to defend humanity. I am asking you to help us do this. But if you require further motivation, know that only a few others know of your Senshi's rebirth, and none aside from me are on this ship. Kill me, and you have nothing. Kill my men, and you have nothing. Aid me, and you save human lives and gain the answers you seek."

Arya gritted his teeth, his hand shaking even more. He could barely hold the gun steady on the Eldar, who continued to ignore the weapon.

"Sergeant…" Brax said quietly, for the Arya's ears alone. "We lose nothing in this, and potentially gain everything."

Arya only glanced his eyes briefly at Brax, and in doing so locked his gaze with Gahiji. The psychic marine still gripped his head in pain, but he was cognizant.

"Sergeant...," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Arya, please."

Arya continued to glare at the Eldar, visibly torn, but after almost a minute he holstered his weapon. "Fine," he said, his aggression bleeding out of him and leaving only a faint, smoldering anger. "I agree to your trade. Under the Pax Imperialis, let it be done."

"It is done. The agreement is made. We shall leave immediately."

{oOo}

The ship took off and met with another vessel in orbit, larger than the transport shuttle but still of no great size. It was finned as well, resembling a larger fish and appeared made of sleek, curved lines.

More Eldar piloted the ship, but there still were not very many of them. It almost seemed a skeleton crew, and it soon became obvious to the Marines why the Eldar had desired their help. Between the manpower they gave the rest of the system and defense of their world, this ship and these soldiers were really all they could spare and not put themselves at risk.

With the shuttle safely docked, the ship coasted away from the planet until it activated its FTL capability and cut into the Webway. They all settled in to wait in the ships cargo hold, the Marines feeling slightly uncomfortable on the alien vessel. Arya still wore a deep frown, as if he regretted caving in to the Eldar's demands and was going to revoke the deal at any minute.

Finally, to break the tense silence between them, Brax spoke.

"What is our estimated time of arrival till enemy contact?"

The Farseer did not answer, one of the armored soldiers doing so in her stead. "We should be there in a few hours. The scum aren't even bothering to hide far away from any habitable planets for their raids."

"That seems unwise."

The Eldar shrugged. "They're overconfident, having picked off so many ships already."

"Is there a plan of action?" Amadeus cut in.

"Our ship doesn't have enough firepower to take them one on one, so we're going to hit them in a strafing run. While they're distracted by the attack, we'll sneak in with the transport ship and board them. Then we get to the bridge, kill everyone there and set the ship to explode."

"Not a bad plan," Trygg admitted. "Numbers against us?"

"Most likely little more than fifty. Many of their attack craft should be out raiding, but after we kill the main ship they'll be dead in space. We'll be able to pick them off later."

"That could work," Arya said, interested despite his lingering frustration. "I take it the thirty armed that we've seen so far are the bulk of your forces?"

"You would be correct," Anagantieth answered. "It was all I could do to convince my peers to take this many. We could have taken more, but there is fear among the older of us."

"Ye shouldn't flee from battle," Trygg scoffed. "Tis cowardly."

"Not of battle, Astartes. Extinction. Our species has only just stopped slowly declining. So many are afraid we will slip back, and fade away to nothing." Her eyes were so old, filled with such sadness. Trygg felt his retort die on his tongue. "Can you imagine such a thing, to know for millennia your kind will die, and then have hope again? We will do anything to defend this."

There was silence then, and they prepared for war.

{oOo}

Zuritel Varaketh was fuming, resting on his throne and tapping his fingers upon the armrest. Drazhar should have been back hours ago. That he wasn't meant one of three things, he was dead, running late or he had split away from the Kabal. The latter was unlikely, having nothing more than an attack craft, even if it was a Bomber. It would also have been stupid, since with just nine subordinates Zuritel would have simply killed the idiot himself, True Born or not. Once again, Zuritel wished that the little brat was as competent as his namesake. If he was running behind schedule that meant Zuritel was going to have to discipline him, which while enjoyable did not make up for the fact that lost time meant lost profit.

The Dracon of the Kabal of the Shadowed Sun stood up, pushing some of his black hair out of his eyes. He looked to one of the many minions that crowded the bridge of his ship. It was lit in a sickly purple glow, revealing advanced technology adorned with spikes and other dark things that caused pain and death. "Report. When should we expect the raiding parties to return?"

"Honored Dracon, aside from Drazhar, who should have returned already, we can expect the other five groups to be back in about three hours."

Zuritel settled his hand on the pommel of his power sword, taken from an Imperial years ago in an inconsequential struggle. He had always wanted one, but only the Incubi were allowed use of the Punisher. So he had to make due with this inferior, if highly customized, weapon. He ignored his subordinate's rather blatant attempt to gain favor by further discrediting Drazhar and went back to his throne, sitting down and steepling his armored fingers, musing further on the errant raiding party. Drazhar's delay disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. Could these inferior creatures have finally caught on to their presence?

"Call the raiding parties back," he said with a wave of his hand, making his decision. "I want them here within the hour."

"Yes, sire."

The subordinate reached the consol to give the order when alarms blared.

"Sire, a ship has just come from the webway! They're right on top of us!"

The ship shook violently, nearly taking the Dracon off his throne. He gripped the gothic, spiked thing for support, his teeth barred in a feral growl.

"Shields holding," another lackey called. "They're coming around for another pass!"

"Fire back! Show these dogs what it means to strike at the Shadowed Sun!"

Weapons fired, and the Eldar ship dove, avoiding the initial assault. As it did, the shuttle separated from the main craft, diving low before shooting up straight for the belly of the Dark Eldar Corsair as it shot at the Eldar Nightshade. The faster Eldar ship shot up, narrowly avoiding the lance battery of the stronger ship, and struck again. The shields flickered, and the shuttle added its own minor weapons to the assault. The energy barrier flickered again, turning off for a brief moment, but it was enough. The shuttle fired once more, breaking in to the cargo area of the larger vessel and forcing its way in.

The armed forces, thirty six in all, streamed out and into the hold, helmeted and thus completely ignoring the lack of atmosphere. Only a few of the Dark Eldar had had their own helmets on, and they were quickly taken care of through a combination of bolter fire and glowing shuriken. The Farseer led near the front, surrounded by Dire Avengers and the Knights, the Guardians trailing in the back, as they made their way down the dark corridors of the twisted ship and making their way to the bridge. The hallways were dimly lit, and the shadows all hid horrific implements of torment and cells that held stinking prisoners who screamed for the invaders to release them, or at the very least to free them from their agony. No more explosions rocked the vessel, the Nightshade having broken off its pursuit before the Corsair could devote all its weapons to the ship's destruction.

They ran into only light resistance, having taken the crew off guard and when over half of them were out on raids. Occasionally groups of five would split from the party, seeking other groups of their fallen kin so that they might prevent them from grouping together and mounting effective resistance. In the end, the group had decreased to twenty-one when they made their way to the bridge.

"Brother Brax," Arya said as he motioned to the door. "Blow it!"

Brax nodded and placed a small charge on the armored panel, motioning for everyone to get back.

"Fire in the hole!"

The door exploded, the majority of the force directed inward and sending in a pale of smoke. The group fired into the room immediately, which was returned with equal vigor. Two Eldar soldiers fell from the return volley, screaming in pain as the deadly neurotoxin of Splinter Weaponry burned their nervous systems and sent them into convulsive shocks. Trygg growled and fired back, charging in with Amadeus. The rest of the group wasn't far behind.

Arya locked swords with the tall, muscled one that went without a helmet. The beautiful, alien face was wracked with an ugly snarl as he struck Arya's power sword with his own, the energy of both crackling and fighting each other even as their owners did the same.

"Damn you, you filthy Mon'keigh!" he screeched as he dodged a powerful overhand blow from the Marine and returned with a strike of his own. Arya backpedaled, moving aside and positioning himself for another strike. "Who do you think you are, doing this to us!"

Behind his helmet, Arya smiled, able to forget his previous anger and allow himself to be lost in the moment. He pushed forward, forcing Zurital to move his weapon to block the Marine's own.

"Who are we?" he called, his voice booming from the voxcaster implanted in his helmet. It was so loud that it made the Dracon wince with the volume of it.

"WE ARE THE KNIGHTS OF SILVER! WE ARE HER WILL!" came the cry of four voices at once, even louder than Arya's own. Trygg and Amadeus were busy with several of the Dark Eldar's ranged support, getting in close and hitting them hard, keeping them distracted from converging their fire as a unified force. Powered claws cut through arms and legs, the sadistic aliens screaming as their blood pooled and crystallized on the floor. Where Amadeus's hammer struck, bodies flew, broken and mangled as they careened into their fellows.

"Who are we?"

"THE INSTRUMENTS OF SERENITY'S JUDGEMENT! WE ARE HER WILL!"

Anagantieth stood back to back with Gahiji, staff and spear striking out with unnatural proficiency. They fought horrible, grotesque creatures that shrugged off the cover fire the Eldar's forces attempted to give. But when those long weapons hit them, appearing as if charged with electricity, they cut through flesh and bone easily, dropping the mutated creatures in bits and pieces.

"Who are we?"

"THE SHIELD THAT HALTS THE DARKNESS! WE ARE THE SPEAR THAT CLEAVES EVIL, THE SWORD THAT SMITES THE IMPURE! WE ARE HER WILL!"

Brax stood in the back with the remaining Guardians, carefully aiming his shots to give the maximum benefit. Several times groups of Dire Avengers were saved from being overwhelmed by his bolter and the shots of the Guardians. Exploding rounds were interspersed with impossibly sharp shurikens, blowing apart bodies even as they were cut to ribbons.

"What is our duty?"

"TO DESTROY THE ENEMIES OF MANKIND! TO WIN BATTLE BY NIGHT, AND JUSTICE BY DAY! TO DEFEND THE SENSHI AND THE IMPERIUM! WE HOLD THE LINE! IT IS THE LAST LINE THAT WILL EVER HOLD!"

"In Nomine Imperator!" Arya called, giving a powerful thrust that Zuritel just barely managed to dodge. The Dracon pulled out a small pistol and fired, which Arya managed to block by turning his pauldron toward the muzzle. The crystals went an alarming distance into his armor, but they did not touch his flesh. Arya batted the thing from his enemy's hand and continued his assault.

"IN NOMINE SERENA!" his men called back, continuing their assault with renewed vigor. Even the Eldar forces seemed revitalized by the fervor of it, or perhaps they simply did not want the Astartes to outdo them. Regardless, they fought harder as well, beginning to truly overwhelm their foes.

"Astartes," Zuritel growled. "You're just a bigger strain of vermin."

The swords struck like lightening, the power fields of each resounding off each other and booming like thunder. But Arya was slowing down. The crystals in his pauldron hadn't reached his skin, but they were jammed in his shoulder joint, preventing him from fully moving his left arm. Letting out a roar, the Marine bull rushed the Dark Eldar elite, slamming into him and almost taking him off his feet. He hit him then, his sword striking true with all of his considerable weight, but it didn't seem to do anything. Instead of being cut in twain a shimmering black miasma intercepted the Marine's sword, flickering a little as it blocked the weapons power field. Zuritel smirked and countered, and Arya only just managed to get out of the way, the blade digging a deep gash in the chest plate of his armor and scoring a small line in his flesh.

"Shadow Field trumps your pitiful armor, Mon'keigh." He shot forward, sword raised to deliver the finished blow as Arya tried vainly to get his sword across his body to intercept.

That was when the crackling spear shot through the air and spitted Zuritel through the middle, ignoring the Dracon's weakened protections. The cruel alien gasped, instinctively clutching at the weapon that pierced through his flesh. He had only a moment to worry about that before Arya's sword took his head from his shoulders.

Arya panted with the exertion, even his superhuman constitution strained from the battle. All sadistic aliens were down, but twelve of Eldar were as well. The Farseer lowered her head for a moment out of respect for the dead, and he saw his men doing the same. Arya allowed her a small moment before coming over.

"Our side of the agreement is done, all enemies terminated." He was glad none of his men had died, though all of them had new scratches and dents in their armor. They had been together so long, it would have been a tragedy to lose them so close to their goal. "Let us destroy this ship."

"Yes, after we free the prisoners we will break this filthy thing."

Arya hesitated for a moment, but nodded. There would not be too much delay in that. "And then you will take us to Senshi Esin."

"Of course. She's on Graztex II. Let us be quick, for last I heard the Orks were moving against it."

{oOo}

AN: A few minor edits in response to an intelligent review, thank you Lord Sia~


	7. The Silver Knights IV

TALES OF LOYALTY: THE SILVER KNIGHTS

_Unforeseen Events_

{oOo}

Brax leaned in close to the long scar on Arya's chest, though with his augmetic eyes this really wasn't necessary. He took out a small scalpel and made a small cut on the scar, which Arya took stoically. The marine looked tired, which was strange for one of his constitution. He was out of armor, sitting on a table wearing only a pair of pants and boots. The position reminded him of Trygg's a few days before. The techmarine quickly dabbed a swab onto the pooling blood before it could scar over again. Reaching for a heavily modified data slate with one of his mechadendrites, he used the machine's auspex function and scanned the red substance. A tall, black haired Eldar was also there, and Brax moved the data slate a little to allow her a better look at it.

"You were right, Lorenva" he said as data continued to steam onto the slate's screen. "The wound has traces of poison in it."

The Eldar nodded, pulling out some of her own equipment. It looking like some sort of syringe crossed with a gun. She was looking through vials in a small container resting on a nearby table. "Indeed. The leaders of our fallen kin regularly use such tactics."

"Who in the name of Terra would poison a power weapon?" Arya broke in. "That makes no sense."

Lorenva shrugged. "I have long since given up trying to understand the reasoning of the Dark Eldar."

"You're lucky, in any case," Brax cut in. "The weapon's power field fried most of the toxin, and your Oolitic Kidney has been cycling your blood to cleanse the stuff. It's not strong enough to knock you out, but since your wound scarred over so quickly it caught most of the poison, which has been releasing in small doses ever since. That's why you've felt fatigued for the last few days."

"I see. Will I be ready when we reach the planet?"

"You will be fine," Lorenva said as she jabbed the needle gun into Arya's neck. "This anti-toxin should neutralize the remaining traces of the poison. Considering how durable you Astartes are, you'll probably be fine in about three hours. More than enough time before we reach our destination." She checked a small screen placed in the wall. "You see? We have about fifteen hours before we drop out of the Webway."

"Thank you," Arya said with a nod. He turned to Brax, who was going over the data slate again. "And what of my armor?"

"It received a fair amount of damage. The strike punctured the cabling in the chest, which gets in the way of you moving your torso properly. However, this ship has some good facilities." The techmarine looked up. "The joint was easier. The crystals didn't really damage it. They were just lodged in there. With the help of some of the Bonesingers, I've managed to make a quick repair and patch it up. It shouldn't get in the way, though you'll have to deal with a rather large scar in your chest plate."

"That's fine. Armor's for defense, not looking pretty."

Brax smiled. "Well, that's true."

"I'm interested in how well the wraithbone has interacted with your Astartes armor. I'm also intrigued by this device you have here," Lorenva motioned to the data slate. "How many functions have you managed to integrate into it?"

"Oh, several! It's all about careful selection of space, you see."

Seeing that Brax was about to go on a long conversation about his favorite toys, Arya raised a hand. "So, is there anything else for me to do here?"

"What? Oh, no. You should be fine now, Brother Sergeant. Just let the anti-toxin work with your Oolitic Kidney and the poison should be out of your system soon. No worries."

"Good. Thank you, Brother Brax, Medicae Lorenva."

Arya pulled on a shirt and strode from the room as Brax and Lorenva continued their conversation, going into the finer details of his customized data slate and possible uses for miniaturizing and mixing their respective technologies.

They had been on the ship for several days now, making their way toward their goal as quickly as possible. By all rights, it was faster than most Imperium vessels. The Webway was typically more stable than the Warp proper, though he heard some parts of it had fallen into disrepair. Not that this was their problem, though. The path they were taking was well used and maintained. From what Arya knew of the Alaitoc craftworld, they regularly traded with planets all over this and neighboring sectors.

He passed by the mess hall, where Trygg was engaging in a tale of an old campaign while sampling Eldar drink. He looked a little flushed, and peaking in Arya was a little astounded by the number of cups sitting around the fiery haired Astartes.

"And so he just stood there, all shocked, as I took his mate's arm and beat him with it!"

The Eldar sitting around all laughed, some of the younger ones slapping their legs. It looked as if they had just kept giving Trygg alcohol so he would continue. Normally Arya would have given Trygg a mild chastisement, but they weren't on duty currently and they'd had an eventful few weeks, so he let it slide. Along with that, they had all fought alongside these people. That brought a kind of camaraderie, and Arya didn't want to trample on that.

"So what happened next?" one of the Eldar, a ship worker by the look of him, managed as soon as he stopped laughing.

Trygg took another drink and grinned. "Well, he was an Ork, after all. Tha bugger took his mate's other arm and started hitting me back!"

That sent the laughter up again, and Arya smiled. This must have been from when Trygg was a Space Wolf. He hadn't heard much about his life then. In truth, most of his squad kept their pasts close to heart, though he knew Brax's story and had heard some of Gahiji's. They had all been together so long that it just seemed natural not to impose, focusing more on their duties in the Silver Knights.

"You're joking!"

"I kid ye not. We went on like that fer almost half an hour. I was getting a little frustrated by that point. Almost lost control." Trygg's face darkened with more than just the flush of alcohol. "Can't lose control. Not ever."

Trygg's tone killed the mood like a knife to the throat, and the assembled Eldar looked at each other awkwardly as Trygg stared into his cup, lost in his memories. Eventually one of them, a Dire Avenger by the look of his armor, spoke up.

"Are you all right?"

Trygg gave himself a shake, looking surprised and quite a bit more sober than he had been. He looked down at the drink and frowned, taking a few seconds before turning back to the one who had asked the question. "Sorry. I'm fine, just visiting old memories."

The armored Eldar nodded. "I understand. You are long lived for your kind, and memory is easy to fall into." He looked pensive, as if searching for the right words. "I won't admit to know all of what troubles you, Astartes, but I can give some advice if you're willing." He continued when Trygg raised no protest, taking his time to phrase his words properly. "We Eldar live hard, regimented lives by necessity, but if one simply squashes down all feeling as it appears, they will eventually burst free. Mere suppression does not help, in the long run."

Trygg looked at him, setting the drink down. The rest of the group was silent during this exchange, one of the rare times an Astartes showed hesitation. "How do ye balance it?"

The Eldar shrugged. "It takes experience, and knowing when it is best to lower one's barriers. If they are always up, they will eventually shatter."

Trygg nodded, his demenour brightening again. He reached for his cup and gave a salute. "I thank ye… What did ye say yer name was again?"

He smiled. "I am known as Alaigar, Astartes."

Trygg offered his cup forward in toast. "Ye can call me Fenrik, Eldar, if I can call ye Alaigar."

"Done," Alaigar said as he tapped his own glass against Trygg's. The Astartes smiled and took a huge gulp, emptying the thing.

"Now, how about I tell ye of this one campaign in Segmentum Obscurus. There were Chaos cultists at work, and they were tha dumbest lot I've ever seen. They thought…"

Arya smiled a little and walked away, leaving Trygg to his merriment. He made his way toward the portside deck, where Gahiji had holed up for his meditations. It was out of the way and quiet, which the psychic marine said helped him concentrate.

The marine sergeant had gotten used to the strange, ivory like material of the ship the first few days into their travel. It was a new experience, and in many ways an enlightening one. Despite the numerous treaties between the Imperium and the various Craftworlds, a scant few humans had ever been on an Eldar ship. Though the two powers claimed to seek cooperation and mutual benefit, there was still some tension between the two. Both races had a history of warfare and distrust for species not their own.

_Perhaps this is another step toward true coexistence._ Arya mused to himself. It was not an unpleasant thought.

The deck's entrance was open, and from a distance Arya saw Gahiji was not alone. He slowed his pace, stopping near the portal and observing quietly as to not disturb the two sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Gahiji sat as he normally did, with his staff in his lap and his arms palm upward on his knees. The Farseer Anagantieth sat in front of him in a similar position, though her Singing Spear was nowhere in sight. The air was thick and muggy, as if coming from a swamp rather than the recycled oxygen of a starship. There also seemed to be a faint crackle in the air, like static just before lightning hits. It was unnerving, and every instinct Arya had was saying look up and watch out for the impact.

Anagantieth opened her eyes with a smile, beaming at Gahiji. "You are certainly skilled, Astartes. It's been years since I've had someone to meditate with who was as gentle as yourself."

Gahiji opened his own eyes. "You do me too much honor, Farseer. So much time on my own, I had thought myself skilled. But you… It is like seeing a master artist at work."

"It is merely a difference in time, Librarian. Though I must say, I'm surprised I overcame you so easily."

"What do you mean?"

"I did more than keep you out, Astartes," she said as she stood up. She did not offer her hand, but then again, Gahiji weighed so much it would have been a meaningless gesture. "When I repelled you, your barriers fell briefly. I know what happened with the little girl, and the daemon."

Gahiji winced. "Ah. You saw that?"

"It appears to be constantly on your mind."

Gahiji set his staff aside and got to his feet, looking pensive even as he towered over Anagantieth. "It was strange. By all rights, the daemon should have won. It was… ancient beyond belief. It knew so much, was so powerful." He closed his eyes for a moment, relieving the event. Astartes were not supposed to know fear, but Gahiji shuddered. It was gone in a second, but it was there. "It should have devoured my mind and that of the girl's. But I… When I was smothered by the darkness, I heard the girl crying. I just… I couldn't leave her like that."

Anagantieth nodded. "So you pushed forward. You have more will than you give yourself credit for, Astartes. You should not doubt yourself so. It weakens you."

She reached up to put a hand on his arm. It might have looked comical, with her so slender and him so large, yet it the gesture was natural, almost like they were old friends.

"If it brings you any comfort," Anagantieth said softly. "I did not feel any trace of daemonic taint in your mind."

The psychic marine blinked. "You…" He stopped, shaking his head. "Thank you."

Arya cleared his throat, making both Gahiji and Anagantieth jump slightly. They turned to the doorway, the Farseer dropping her arm as she did so. The sergeant stood there, quirking an eyebrow.

"Brother Sergeant," Gahiji nodded. "Farseer Alaifir and I were just confirming that Senshi Esin has not moved. From what we can tell, she remains on Graztex II. I must say again, however, that the traces of her rebirth are uncertain considering the time the event occurred. And, as you know, the Senshi have always been difficult to detect through psychic means."

Arya nodded. "Then we are most likely still on the proper path. Good. Be ready to move out. The helmsmen has reported we will reach the planet soon."

"I felt as much in my meditations. Have no worries, Brother Sergeant. I will be prepared."

"Good. Now, where is Brother Amadeus?"

{oOo}

Amadeus turned his head to the let, just barely getting his head out of the way as the sword struck where he used to be. He lifted the pommel of his hammer upward, knocking the arm away and giving him room to swing his weapon. The slender, blue armored Eldar ducked, the hammer passing a few scant centimeters from his head.

The marine reacted in an instant, striking out with his foot while his opponent was crouched low. The smaller fighter rolled to the side, getting up to his feet and slashing. The sword almost hit armor before Amadeus turned, moving with the blade till the strike was fully extended. Turning fully, he used centrifugal force to give himself more speed and power as he completed his spin. His hammer struck nothing but air, however, and he had to stomp his foot into the floor to keep his balance.

The Dire Avenger had anticipated the movement and backpedaled out of Amadeus' range, sword held point down in a defensive gesture. The marine quickly changed his own stance, hammer held in front of him so it could quickly move wherever he needed it to be. They circled each other, just outside of reach, before the Eldar warrior lifted a hand.

"Enough, Astartes. We've been at it for over an hour. I think that's enough sparring for one day."

Amadeus nodded and pulled off his helmet. They were located in the cargo bay, the only place with enough room for them to fight and not knock holes in the walls. He set both his weapon and his helmet on a piece of cargo.

"Your movements were better this time," he commented. "I almost couldn't dodge that flanking attack."

"We've been at this since we began our trip, Amadeus," the Eldar said as he leaned back on a crate taller than himself. "I've had time to study your tactics."

Amadeus frowned. "I didn't believe I was that predictable."

"Oh, you're not. Certainly, most enemies wouldn't have the opportunity to face you as often as I have. But you do fall back on certain movements. Frankly, Amadeus, you're a little… what's the word in your language?" He thought for a brief moment, cupping his chin. "Stiff! That's it."

"Stiff? What do you mean, Tariyen?"

Tariyen frowned in thought. "You hold yourself so rigidly. You can make up new tactics on the fly, but I've fought you enough to see you telegraph small signs. It's like you're holding yourself tight, not allowing yourself to truly flow."

Amadeus put an armored hand under his chin, deep in thought. After a few moments, he spoke. "What do you suggest, then? A warrior must be disciplined, but you seem to be saying that gets in the way of my ability to fight."

"It's not about discipline, Amadeus. It's about not holding yourself so tightly all the time."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Amadeus, I've not seen you take off your armor once since you got on board. In the time I've known you all, your comrades have gone about at least once without wearing it."

The marine's brow furrowed, Tariyen's word's sinking in. He gave himself a few minutes to think on it before he turned back to the Eldar warrior. "Perhaps what you say has some merit. I have been… conflicted, on past decisions. I disobeyed direct orders. Doing so saved lives, but I still ignored my superiors. But instead of being reprimanded, I was taken into the Silver Knights."

Tariyen nodded. "I take it this has confused you?"

"Indeed. It's like I was being rewarded for my insubordination. Since then, I've tried to hold myself with more firmly. Life is discipline, duty is all that matters."

"But Amadeus, is discipline truly a good thing when it is purely for it's own sake?"

Amadeus blinked, startled and off balance. He opened his mouth to respond, but vox equipment in his helmet cut him off, barely loud enough for anyone without genetic advancements to hear.

"Amadeus, get up to the bridge. We're about to return to real space."

Amadeus snatched up his helmet and weapon, pausing a moment to turn towards the Dire Avenger he had spent so many hours practicing with. "Thank you for your insight. I shall think on your words."

"May your quest be fruitful, Astartes. I hope I've managed to help in some small way."

{oOo}

Amadeus gave a salute as he entered the bridge, to which Arya nodded. All the marines were armored, their weapons ready. The Eldar crew went about and around them, continuing their duties to keep the ship functioning. The Captain, a tall man with short brown hair, was holding himself beside Anagantieth, keeping an eye on the crew. Pictscreens and cogitators were everywhere, neatly ingrained into the ship in the artistic way the Eldar seemed to favor, manned by surprisingly few people. But then again, Nightshade class ships weren't very large by design.

"At ease, Brother Amadeus. We're just here to get an idea of the situation in space before we head for the shuttle bay."

"Yes sir."

Amadeus relaxed and moved to stand by his brothers, who were watching the proceedings with interest. Anagantieth approached them, almost seeming like she was leaning on her spear.

"As promised, I have brought you to your destination. The Orks should have landed by this point, but the Guard and our own forces were well aware of them before hand and were mounting an impressive defense before I sought you out. The brutes are likely contained by this point.

"Thank you, Farseer. I… apologize for my earlier outburst." Arya sounded uncomfortable, but his voice firmed quickly. "It was unbecoming."

"Think nothing of it, Astartes."

There was a sudden, almost sharp, keen as the Webway opened and the ship fell back into the material universe. It was not the sudden, gut fluttering transition from the Warp. In fact, the marines hardly felt anything at all.

At least, they didn't until the explosions happened.

The ship shook violently, almost sending those standing straight to the floor. Gahiji caught Anagantieth as she stumbled, and Trygg turned to one of the crewmen operating a consol.

"What's happening?"

"Explosion off our side. Looks like a stray shot… Not Ork stuff. Oh… Oh no. Captain Haruvok! There's a battle going on over the planet! It's not just the Orks and the Imperium, either!"

Arya felt the pit of his stomach go cold. "Who else is there?"

"A Chaos war band."

"Evasive maneuvers!" the Captain roared. "Nothing touches my ship!"

The ship lurched, moving out of the way of more incoming fire. Most of it was too far away to have a chance of actually hitting, but every now and then more dangerous bolts careened past them as the ship dodged and weaved in space. The crew scrambled to get a better idea of the situation, and the noise on the bridge picked up considerably as the Eldar spoke in their musical, almost ethereal language.

Far in the distance, ships of staggering size traded blows with each other. Blocky, tough Imperial ships flew next to sleek Eldar vessels against the warped, mutated ships of Chaos. Where once proud, noble ships of the Imperium stood were now only broken monstrosities bathed in blood and viscera. Fleshy protrusions came off of several of them, ending in claws that grasped at nothing. Crude ships flew between the armadas, attacking both forces with equal fervor and not caring when several were gutted in the crossfire. It did not matter to the Greenskins who they fought, only so long as they had a chance to fight. Casualties were meaningless.

Meanwhile, Arya was gripping the pommel of his sword so hard he was shaking. His face contorted, first in despair, then in anger. He turned to the Farseer, but his retort died as he saw her shocked expression. She turned fully to him, her eyes pleading.

"Astartes, I can only apologize. I did not foresee any of this. Believe me, if I had I would have brought you here immediately."

The sergeant closed his mouth and grunted. He held his temper firmly, thinking everything through before he spoke again. She hadn't known of this, and starting an argument would serve no purpose. He turned to the Captain, who was going over data streaming down a holographic projection near his command chair. "Is there any way for us to get to the planet?"

"Yes." He pointed to a small map of the system. It was filled with glowing contact icons of differing color. Most were stationary, but a few were moving around at a slow pace, which in reality meant they were moving blazingly fast. "From what I can tell, The Imperial Navy, along with several of our own ships, has made a defensive line here. The Chaos ships are attacking head on, so if we come from the side we might be able to avoid notice. Naturally, the Orks are attacking everyone, which is keeping Chaos distracted."

"So how long can we expect to get there?"

"Right…" He motioned with his right hand, and there was a keening as the ship sliced into the Webway. It had just barely ended before they heard another as they dropped back out. "Now, actually." The Captain turned to one of the crew. "Send out our IFF signal. I'd hate for my ship to get hit by our allies."

It took a few minutes for everything to settle down, at least as much as anything ever did in the middle of an orbital war zone. Loud cursing erupted over the vox, which made sense since the Imperials weren't expecting a ship to pop out essentially right on top of them. Oddly enough, the Eldar ships seemed miffed as well. Arya noted that the Haruvok was smirking a little at his kin's discomfort, and wondered as to this Eldar's eccentricity. Then again, Anagantieth had been atypical for an Eldar as well. Perhaps he had just encountered a strange group.

They made their way down to the shuttle bay, along the way joined with Anagantieth and the Eldar warriors who had survived the assault on the Dark Eldar. Trygg, Amadeus and Brax greeted a few familiar faces in their own ways, while Gahiji fell in step near Anagantieth. Arya opened his mouth to question the Farseer, but she cut him off, not looking at him as she spoke.

"I have miscalculated, Silver Knight. Chaos's presence here was one I did not see in my divinations. As such I owe your people a debt. We will give what aid we can to the forces on the ground."

She turned to him fully as they went up the entry hatch into the small blue shuttle. Her eyes were deadly serious, and there was no trace of her habitual smile. "I fear a powerful enemy has clouded my sight. Be careful, Astartes. Forces are at work here that even I cannot fully see."

She was silent then, and it was in grim humor that the shuttle made its way to the planet.

{oOo}

The Eldar left them soon after they hit the ground, the landing pad a quickly made affair located a short distance east of an impressive mountain range, making their way to their own forces to see where they could be of the most use. Arya and his squad, in turn, headed toward the central command center of the Imperial forces.

The Guard had essentially taken over a small town located a few miles from the mouth of a wide valley that cut through the peaks. Soldiers and tanks were everywhere, scrambling around on various duties. Several had minor injuries, but nothing so serious as to take them off the field of battle. The formations were defensive, from a casual glance, but the marine sergeant noticed that everyone was ready to press forward in an instant.

From what Arya had read from a quick skim of the geography, this range went for several thousand miles in either direction. The valley was now crawling with Greenskins, using the rocky spires to their advantage to make a beachhead against the firepower of the Imperial Guard. The town barely warranted having an actual landing pad, the nearest hive with a real space port a few hundred miles to the west, but ore from the mountains required quick transport, which was mostly done by airship.

"I can feel the traces of her birth in the distance, Brother Sergeant," Gahiji said as hey made their way. They all had their helmets clipped at their belts, which in Gahiji's case sometimes helped with his psychic searching. "She's somewhere past the valley."

"Blocked off by Orks and in tha middle of a Chaos invasion," Trygg growled.

"It would appear so," Brax interjected. "But it does not appear to be very far along if the battle in space is any indication."

"Let's hope you're right, Brother Brax," Arya muttered as they passed the guards stationed in front of the large metal doors heading down to what looked like a bomb shelter.

Colonel Howard saluted as the Astartes entered the command bunker, a fortified structure partially underground and absolutely covered with communications equipment, to which Arya responded in kind. The colonel blinked at that, but recovered quickly, lowering his arm. He put his hands behind his back and looked up at the marine.

"It's good to see some of the Emperor's own, Brother Sergeant. It's been a damn madhouse down here."

"The feeling is likewise, Colonel. It does me good to see the Guard in action."

Howard gave a wry half grin, the other half being a grimace. It made the scar down his temple more pronounced. "We've certainly seen our fair share. Three weeks into this campaign and everything's gone straight to hell. It's all I can do to keep things together."

Arya frowned. He hadn't realized that the situation had gotten so bad, but then again, they had landed just a few moments ago, and the tactical net only gave so much information at a casual listen.

"I hate to impose upon you more, Colonel, but it is imperative that my men and I make it through that valley. Can you give us the back up we'll need to punch through the Ork forces?"

The Guardsman's face slackened in shock. "Astartes, I mean this with the highest respect, but fuck no!"

Arya's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and the colonel continued hastily. "Brother Sergeant, I'm not sure you understand just how bad things are here on the ground. We had the Orks mostly contained in the first two weeks of fighting, but then out of nowhere comes a Chaos band. The Navy and the Eldar have mostly been able to keep them stuck in the sky, but thousands managed to touch down while we were still at grips with the Greenskins. They headed toward somewhere on the other side of the planet, a small hive if our reports are right, and then the Warboss decided to go after them with half his army! The Orks here are just to make sure we don't get in the way, controlled by one of his chief Nobs. A charge through them would waste too many lives."

"Why have you not gone around the mountains, or over them?" Amadeus broke in. The colonel shook his head.

"The Orks have hundreds of cannons pointed up in the air all across the range, not to mention attack craft. We managed to get a few ships to the other side, but more fell than got through. I won't waste the lives of my men. As for going around…" Howard's eyes narrowed, and his voice became ice cold. "If I did that, I'd be leaving this half of the planet to the mercy of the Greenskins. The best we can hope for is that the men who made it through can hold the enemy at bay long enough for reinforcements. We've already sent call to the Grey Knights. The Chaos band appears to have Daemons among them, and I'm not sure we'd be able to handle them even without the Orks to deal with."

Arya struggled with himself for a moment. They had to make it across the valley. Every moment wasted put Senshi Esin in even more peril! But could he afford to reveal his mission to the solonel? So far they had handled themselves in near absolute secrecy, but did it really matter any more? It was obvious that the forces of Chaos had discovered Esin as well. They had no other purpose being here.

It was the Howard's look that settled it for him. The man wasn't going to budge.

"Colonel, what I'm about to tell you is of the utmost importance. Can we have some privacy?"

The colonel gave a quick glance at his various attendants and officers and nodded, leading the Astartes to a small conference room. It seemed even smaller with the Astartes crowding up the place, but there was at least enough room to move around the small table set up in the middle. Howard went around the table, giving himself some distance from the Knights before turning and addressing them.

"Now, what's so damn important that you'd ask me to make a suicide run?"

Arya leaned forward, using his height to his full advantage to send just how grave the situation was. "We are charged by Serenity herself to find the Senshi Esin, who has been reborn on this planet." Howard's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head, which Arya might have found amusing if he wasn't so desperate. "That's why the Chaos band is here, Colonel."

It took a few moments for the Guardsman to recover. "Are you serious? Do you have any proof?"

"Our mission was of the utmost secrecy. All we have is her spoken word. We never even told our informants what we were looking for, piecing together information as we went."

Howard opened his mouth, but closed it right after. He turned around and put his hands on the conference table, his head hung low. "I want to believe you. I really do, but I need more than that." He turned back to them. "And even if it were true, I wouldn't destroy my regiment to do it. Senshi Esin was one of the soldiers. She would understand."

"So you would just leave her to die?" Arya growled, his face a thundercloud. He stepped closer, going from standing over the man to towering over him. "And you call yourself a loyal member of the Imperium?"

"Yes, damn you!" Howard roared. "Astartes, say of me what you will, but don't you dare question my loyalty! Give me a way to punch through the Ork forces and we will fall upon both them and the heretics like the hammer of the Emperor we are! I would crush them under the treads of our tanks and smash them with the force of our guns! I would shatter them utterly! There would be no place they could hide from us!"

Arya leaned back, momentarily surprised by the colonel's fervor. But as the Guardsman died down, an idea struck him. The man wanted to help them; he just needed a way to pull it off.

"Colonel, would you happen to have a cape?"

{oOo}

A full fourth of the regiment was mobilized on the hour, men getting their kits together in an orderly fashion and tank crews rolling out. At their head, standing on the prow of a Chimera, was Arya, a blood red cape fluttering behind him. His helmet was off, and he held his sword point down, his hands resting on the pommel. Amadeus and Gahiji were behind him, their own weapons held ready. They cut an inspiring figure, like a general leading his troops to war. It caught the eye.

Which was exactly what Arya was counting on. The Orks, naturally, responded to this by gathering en masse, roaring and bashing their weapons on the ground in challenge. There were thousands of them milling in the valley, moving about like a green ocean in the midst of a hurricane. A very loud, boisterous hurricane. Many fired off rounds from crude bolters, which of course hit nothing being so far out of their optimum range. The cannon fire, however, did reach them. Arya shifted as the Chimera dodged an explosion of dirt and fire right in front of it. Almost every shot was wide of its mark, but that was no excuse to get careless.

A few miles away, Trygg and Brax were swiftly making their way up one of the smaller mountains. They were clad in plain clothes for better camouflage, the silver shine of their armor being far too conspicuous in the noonday sun. They lacked their bolters for similar reasons, the sound of their discharge would alert every enemy for miles around to their location at this height. The techmarine held a high-powered rifle in his hands, a weapon that would normally have been set into a fortification to pick off enemies at long distance. But given Brax's size, it fit him almost perfectly.

The topped a rise and looked out. The space was more than half way up the mountain, relatively flat with some brush hugging the rock here and there, with plenty of space for what they required. In the distance wad the Ork camp, a sprawling, ramshackle thing that could hardly be called military. Looks were deceiving, however, and both marines knew the Greenskins could not be underestimated. They'd proved time and again that if they gained momentum they would trample over even some of the best offenses.

"Ye think ye can make tha shot from here?"

Brax settled on his stomach and peered at the camp, his artificial eyes bringing it into far clearer focus than even the best sniper scope. He brought the rifle up, putting the stock on his shoulder. His mechadendrites grabbed the ground, further steadying him as he aimed.

"Yes. Now we just have to see if the Brother Sergeant's ruse works."

If he said anything else, Trygg didn't hear it. A deep, guttural cry from above them echoed in the air, and Trygg looked up as two Orks charged at them, crude axes held high. They had what looked like guns in their free hands, but they didn't seem to care about shooting from range and careened on down slope at a pace that would have broken human legs to bits.

Brax turned and made to get up, but Trygg held up a hand. "No! Stick ta tha plan! I'll handle these filth."

In one swift motion, Trygg pulled the knife he had taken from the Dark Eldar and threw it. The blade hit true, embedding itself deep in the chest of one of the charging alien monsters. The force of it made the Greenskin stumble, which meant he toppled head over heels as his momentum continued to carry him forward. The other one ignored his comrade's plight, and Trygg charged forward to meet him. They met in a clash of limbs and curses, rolling along the ground as they tried to get an advantage over each other.

Tuning out what was going on behind him, Brax focused his full attention on the camp. His augmetic eyes worked at speeds impossible for any human, and saw things far more clearly as well. The rifle moved with his eyes, the long barrel making minute adjustments as he searched for his target.

Seconds later, he found it. Ten Orks, all better armored and bigger than their fellows, came pouring out of one of the dilapidated huts the Orks called housing. The one in the middle was a good head taller than the rest, pointing at the Astartes in the distance vigorously, a huge smile spreading across his ugly face.

A smile that turned to shock when the high velocity round tore through his skull and splattered his brains across the Orks next to him.

Meanwhile, Trygg was having some difficulty. His foe had managed to get on top of him and was apparently trying to bite off his face. He was just managing to keep the thing's jaws away, gagging at the smell of the alien's breath. Any toxins located within the beast's mouth wouldn't harm him, of course, but the stink of it almost made him choke.

And then Brax's power axe, the symbol of his calling, burst through the Greenskin's chest. The creature's expression was almost comical as it slumped to the side, its spine severed and the few organs it possessed spilling out of the gaping wound.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. He just managed ta get on top of me fer a bit."

Brax offered his hand, which Trygg took gratefully. The fiery haired marine brushed himself off and looked at the other body. That one had apparently survived the fall, but had died foaming at the mouth and clutching his throat. The skin around where Trygg's knife had pierced it had changed from green to purple, and the marine shook his head in wonder.

"Do tha tricky bastards poison _all_ of their weapons?"

"Most likely."

Trygg, looked at Brax, who was smiling widely. The man almost seemed smug. "So, did it work?"

"Oh, it worked."

Arya smiled as the aftermath of Brax's shot ran through the Greenskin army like a wave. With the death of their leader, the others had almost immediately begun brawling with each other to establish dominance. This spread to the Orks next to them, and to the Orks next to those Orks. It continued on till it reached their front, the Greenskins confused and unfocused, lashing out at their fellows instead of focusing on the threat in front of them.

The Imperial forces leapt upon this like wolves on a wounded animal, tank fire erupting among their lines and sending bodies flying into the air. Men cheered and shot lasfire into the throng, hardly needing to aim to hit a target in that green tide. Several managed to fire back, but their focus was gone now that the fighting in their ranks had truly picked up, and the Guard wasn't going to allow them to regain their initiative.

The sergeant stepped down into the Chimera, motioning toward the vox operator.

"Please contact Colonel Howard. I've got the way forward ready for him."

{oOo}


	8. The Silver Knights V

TALES OF LOYALTY: THE SILVER KNIGHTS

_Darkness Before the Dawn_

{oOo}

Tank fire roared, deafening the screams as the Greenskins broke. The Imperial Guard charged through the valley, lasguns firing in time with the tanks as they took their revenge upon the Ork horde. The fouls species had pillaged and destroyed countless worlds, revelling in the bloodshed of innocent lives. To strike back against such monsters could be nothing less than justified, and several men smiled as they gunned down their foes.

The cannons on the high ground turned against them, the Greenskins firing shot after shot against the ever-swelling Imperial force. Colonel Howard had dedicated most of the regiment to reinforce the spearhead Arya had convinced him to commit, and the numbers were telling. The earth erupted in fire and dirt, and even with the alien's typical accuracy, the sheer amount of fire made all the difference. Men fell screaming as they were ripped apart, and tanks were blown asunder as countless shells tore through armor plate. But still the Guard moved forward, still the Guard denied their enemy the view of retreating backs. They had stood still for too long! They would no longer allow these beasts to rest upon an Imperial world!

Fighter craft, both Imperial and Eldar, strafed the mountains, taking full advantage that the cannons were pointing to the ground instead of into the sky. Explosions rocked the peaks, and Orks screamed as they fell to their deaths hundreds of feet below. Ork craft intercepted, but they were too late. The damage was done. The Guard cheered as their allies in the air tore through their foes, and they rushed forward with renewed vigor to strike down the brutish creatures.

Small pockets of the alien invaders managed to gather together, charging themselves against the tidal wave of the Imperial Guard. Groups as small as ten and as large as one hundred ran screaming, waving axes in the air and shooting off primitive slug throwers. But where they were unorganized rabble, the men and women they fought against were a disciplined example of martial might. As the tanks pushed forward, barrels booming in concentrated bursts, they ran among them and gave them cover. Heavy weapons crews among the abominable creatures fell screaming as their bodies were ripped apart, leaving the armored guns free range to take apart any pockets of resistance.

"_Well,"_ Colonel Howard said over a heavily encrypted vox channel. _"I have to say you were right. I'll admit I had my reservations about this, Brother Sergeant, but you got the job done."_

"Of course not, Colonel," Arya responded from the depths of a speeding Chimera, the armored transport smashing its way through barriers of wood and metal as it followed the main advance. "I was just the distraction. My team began the job that your men are finishing."

Brax was still smiling, the rifle still cradled in his arms as the vehicle plowed through the battlefield. Trygg was smirking as well, but more in sharing in the techmarine's good humor. Amadeus looked at them and shook his head, though the ghost of a smile played along his features, while Gahiji simply continued to peer into the distance beyond the armored shell.

"_As you say,"_ said the Colonel in a voice that did not completely hide his appreciation of the compliment. _"Several of my men will remain here to clean up this rabble, but now our fighters can hit them without taking a shot up the backside. That evens the odds and frees us up to deal with the larger issue."_

Arya took out a data slate and tied it in to the Guard's tactical net, showing a map of the area around the mountains. It, and two major hives, were shown in as much detail as the small screen could allow, though both cities were too small to be called real Hives.

_"As you can see,"_ Howard continued. _"Heretic and Ork forces have been at it for almost five days by this point. The PDF managed to buy enough time for the Guard that made it past the Greenskin blockade to reinforce them. Last update was the enemy forces had been kept at the outer ring of Hive Korfor. But they can't possibly continue to hold off against such numbers for much longer."_

"Which is where we come in."

_"Correct. You'll be attached to a full third of our forces. We'll be the hammer to bolster our comrade's anvil, smashing these monsters between us!"_

The sergeant nodded. It was a sound plan. With the Orks and the heretics so busy shooting themselves and Korfor's defenders, the attack at their rear would be devastating even if they saw them coming. "I wish you well with that. May the Hammer of the Emperor strike true."

_"We certainly plan to. I wish you luck on your own mission as well, Brother Sergeant. I know it might not seem like it, considering what I said before, but I support you."_

The vox went dead, and Arya settled in. He took in the situation on his data slate as his men checked their equipment. This would be the culmination of all their searching. They were so close to achieving their goal! And yet, he was disturbed.

_'I fear a powerful enemy has clouded my sight. Be careful, Astartes. Forces are at work here that even I cannot fully see.'_

The Farseer's words echoed in his mind, taunting his confidence. There was something more than he was seeing, something that threatened everything. But no matter how he tackled the issue, he could not grasp the answer.

_What is it?_ He thought for he thousandth time. _What am I missing?_

No revelations presented themselves, and with dark thoughts they travelled onward toward the battlefield.

{oOo}

The streets ran red in Korfor, and screams filled the air. Mad adherents to the dark gods swarmed everywhere, charging and dying upon the guns of the beleaguered defenders, undaunted despite horrific losses. Buildings burned, many long since charred husks under almost a straight week under siege. Worse still were the corpses, littered around the streets like so much trash. Heretics, their bodies desecrated with horrific tattoos and piercings, tainted the ground they bled upon, falling wherever they had been mowed down.

The Imperial dead could be found easily enough, strewn across whatever cover they could find to make a bulwark against the advancing hordes. Though they were brave, determined to repulse this foe, numbers told in the end. Imperial corpses marked where they abandoned positions in a steady retreat, giving up block after block as they tried to protect the civilians fleeing for the relative safety of the inner Hive.

The Orks, of course, were having the time of their lives. They hooted and hollered, as they got in close to Imperial and Chaotic forces alike, ignoring their wounds like they weren't even there. Laughing, they went wherever the fighting was hottest, chopping up whomever they could find in their drunken demand for war. Their dead lay everywhere, sometimes in huge groups as they swarmed against whoever could do battle with them.

"Where is my damn air support?" lieutenant Kraxman roared into his vox behind a makeshift barricade of wrecked groundcars, autogun fire from countless enemies chipping away at the thin metal. "We're getting slaughtered out here!" He popped up briefly and let loose a hail of lasbolts, his men following suit. They had lost their armored support two days ago, and were having to make due simply holding the line and falling back when the enemy grew too much for them.

_"They're tied up on the Eastern side of the city. We just can't commit anything to the Western edge!"_

"Oh yeah?" Kraxman responded as he ducked under the return fire of a screaming madman, his armor showing he once belonged to the Guard. The lieutenant opened up on him, blowing the traitor's legs off before getting back fully under cover. "Well, they can't be any worse off than we are here! I'm up to my ass in traitors! And if that wasn't enough, the fucking Orks keep getting in the way!"

_"We know that, but intelligence has reported power armored foes engaging with our forces over in the East!"_

Kraxman felt his chest tighten, and for a few moments he forgot how to breathe. "You don't mean…"

_"Traitor Marines have been spotted on the ground."_

The transmission broke off, and Kraxman sat still for a few, brief seconds while his men laid down more suppressive fire. Enemy Astartes had taken the field. Corrupted parodies of the Emperor's own chosen. Men who had been at war for thousands of years, battling against their former brethren and the Imperium they used to serve. They were the highest of the low, the madmen among madmen, kings of murderers and lords of corruption. And his men were supposed to fight against that?

"We got big ones!" Private Harecks called out, and Kraxman rose to confirm his worst fears. Five hulking figures, their armor profaned with blasphemies, approached them through the mass of cultists they were barely managing to hold back. The lead one, easily half a foot taller than his fellows, had a helmet topped with long horns. They cut through that crowd easily, the smaller figures parting to allow their foul masters to the front. Casually, as if they hardly cared that the enemy outnumbered them, they levelled their bolters forward.

The Guardsmen went full auto, no longer caring to aim so long as they put out enough firepower to drop these monsters. Countless shots rang forth, the barrage tearing in to the horde and their debased sovereigns, letting out such a volley that would give even the most foolhardy enemy pause. But it was to avail, and with despair the Guardsmen knew that their foes were too great. The energy from their guns expended itself harmlessly upon the defaced armor these creatures wore, moving through the storm of lasbolts like rain.

"Damn it," Kraxman whispered as the traitor marines opened fire, bolt rounds easily tearing through cover and ripping into the defenders. His men screamed as the terrible bullets hit them, the armor on the lucky ones managing to hold out under the assault.

Not everyone was so fortunate. Several fell clutching at cratered torsos and stumps where arms used to be, bleeding out in seconds or simply dying from the pain. Jenkins fell with a hole in his chest, his blood splattering across Kraxman's face. The Lieutenant looked down at the heavy weapons specialist, the life already out of the Guardsman's eyes. He had just loaded a rocket in his weapon, about to fire when the uncaring monsters that walked among the teeming masses of Chaos had cut him down.

"Damn it," Kraxman repeated, his voice growing louder with every passing second. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

He picked up the launcher, steadying it on his shoulder and taking aim. With a scream, he fired, the missile streaking through the air and hitting the largest Astartes head on, blowing him to bloody bits and sending his comrades flying. The heretics wailed, despondent that one of their dark lords had been struck low, and men at the very front scrabbled to get back.

"Take that you bastards!" Kraxman screamed at the top of his lungs, picking up his lasgun and opening fire, cutting down swathes of cultists as his men joined in, heartened that these superhuman warriors could die just as easily as mere mortals. "Don't you dare look down on us! We're still here! We're still fighting!"

The other traitor marines regained their feet quickly, and Kraxman knew his little stunt had only bought them a few moments before they would be overwhelmed. But he had done his duty, as had his men, holding their ground against impossible odds. This was the end, though. He couldn't go any further.

He knew he was going to die.

Which was why he was surprised when tank fire erupted among the foul mob, body parts flying into the air as cultists and marines alike were reduced to a fine red paste. A Leman Russ careened down the street, its turret turning away from the Guardsmen before opening up again, taking out another group of heretics.

_"This is Quorren Third Armored Battalion, responding to your support call,"_ a crisp, female voice said over the vox. _"Sorry we're late, Some Greenies thought they could play chicken with us. Had to prove 'em wrong. Fall in with us, we're gonna clear this scum out."_

Before he knew what was going on, Kraxman's platoon was falling in behind the gigantic tank, supporting it as it fired off another round into the distance. They were cheering, and it took him a moment to realize he was cheering too.

{oOo}

"We came too late," Amadeus cursed as their Chimera tore through the ruined streets, running over cultist and Ork alike as it careened at near breakneck speed.

"Yes," Gahiji muttered, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed in concentration. "The heretics have just managed to breach the outer defence."

"Not ta mention tha damn Orks spilling in," Trygg grumbled as he checked his power claw, making sure its mechanisms functioned.

"It doesn't matter," Arya growled softly, gripping his sword so tightly that he shook. "We will achieve our mission. We cannot fail!"

A Guardsman came back to where they sat and saluted. "Sirs, we've just gotten past the outer ring of the Hive. Hostiles everywhere, but we've managed to avoid too much trouble. Do we need to change direction?"

"No," Gahiji responded, opening his eyes. "We need to continue this way. I'll have a better idea once we're a bit closer."

"Yes sir."

The soldier moved back to the front, and Gahiji closed his eyes again. Brax was consulting his data slate, which he had patched into the tactical command network to get a better feel for the battles raging across he city. He frowned, and motioned Arya over. The sergeant pulled himself from his dark thoughts and moved so he could see what Brax was pointing at.

"This is strange," the techmarine said as he pointed to a specific piece of information dotting his device. "A platoon from the 32nd infantry seems to have been completely wiped out, and they were near our location."

"Do you think there's an ambush up ahead?"

"It's possible. The disturbing thing is that they don't appear to have had enough time to send out more than a brief call for aid. The attack happened too fast for them to report details on their foes."

Before Arya could respond, Gahiji had turned to the side so quickly that his bulk warped his seat, the abused metal screeching. His eyes were wide, and his expression was almost akin to fear. The psychic marine turned back just as fast, utterly ruining his seat.

"Driver!" he roared. "Evasive maneuvers! You have to get us off the roa-"

The vehicle shook as it hit by a giant's foot, its treads leaving the ground as it flipped over onto its side. Energy crackled across the armor, and for the brief moment the marines could observe it before they hung on for dear life, it almost looked like the electricity took on leering, daemonic faces. The Guardsmen screamed as it touched ripped through them, melting flesh like wax and lighting them aflame.

Finally, after almost a minute under the harrowing assault, the armored transport stopped shaking, settling with a crunch.

"Everybody out!" Arya yelled as the Chimera's hull screamed under the strain. Fire coated everything; smoke pouring off the engines and the charred bodies of dead Guardsmen. The Marines poured out of the overturned vehicle just before the flames reached the ammo compartment.

The explosion took them off their feet, sending them crashing to the ground. Trygg shook his head and helped Brax to his feet, the techmarine staring forlornly at the broken vehicle. Amadeus jumped to his feet and shot a screaming cultist, taking the man's head off in an explosion of gore. Arya cut another in half as Gahiji stood up behind him.

"What happened?" the sergeant asked over the din of combat. He drew his bolter with his free hand and picked off enemies, both Orks and Cultist alike, as his men fell in with him in a more defensible formation. Helmets were on in an instant, but Gahiji hesitated.

"We were struck by a monster," he whispered. The psychic marine turned his head, looking down a side street right before it erupted in lightning as black as pitch.

Thunder boomed and buildings shattered. The ground erupted in power, sending men and Orks flying into the air. The wind whipped into frenzy, swirling stone debris like it was trash, further destroying the street. The Greenskins charged at the heart of the unnatural hurricane, but even their brutal ferocity was cut short under the power of the storm tearing through the air, pounding them into a fine red mist.

In the distance, at the very center of the tempest, a small man in crimson robes slashed with purple walked calmly toward the Marines. He was adorned austerely, only a single necklace around his neck in the shape of a leering eye. He looked of middling age, his black hair grey at the temples, and in his hand he held a staff tipped with an eight-pointed star.

One of the Orks, a Nob by the size of him, tore through a nearby alley and loomed over the strange man, cleaver in hand to chop this pitiful human in two. He struck down, but the blade was stopped short several inches from the man's head. He calmly looked up at the alien, and the creature barely had enough time to scream before his skin erupted in ichor, leaving behind only a husk. As the Greenskin's remains fell to the ground in bloody chunks, the man looked directly at the Knights. His eyes were aglow with eldritch energy, the air around him rippling as if under a great heat, and he smiled.

Gahiji stepped forward, getting between his comrades and the sorcerer. He gripped his staff tightly, holding it forward like a shield against the rampant power walking slowly toward them.

"This foe is beyond any of you," he said softly. "Run."

"Brother Gahiji, we can't just leave you!"

"You must."

The sorcerer raised a hand, and from it shot forth a bolt of power, jagged and screaming like the souls of the damned. Settling his feet, grunting with the effort of drawing so much of his gift so quickly, Gahiji struck the terrible attack with his staff, punching it through a building whose roof collapsed under the force.

"Brother Trygg, take off your helm and be not alarmed!"

Startled, but responding quickly, Trygg took off his helmet. In one smooth motion, Gahiji placed his hand upon the fiery haired marine. With a flash of power, Trygg stumbled back, blinking.

"What?"

"I have placed in your mind the psychic "scent" of the energies released upon Lady Esin's rebirth. You must follow it to her! I will buy you the time you need."

"Brother Gahiji…" Amadeus began, but Arya placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

"Fight well, Brother. May we see each other again."

The four ran off, leaving Librarian to confront his enemy. The robed figure continued to walk, uncaring that most of its prey was escaping. Gahiji walked as well, his staff held firm as he moved toward his fate. As he did, he could feel an oppressive will permeating the air, covering everything with dark emanations that soaked into everything. His eyes shining faintly, Gahiji repulsed this corrupt atmosphere, surrounded himself in a small bubble of untainted air. The storm still raged around him, but all around him was calm as he strode forth. Cultists and Orks fought outside that maelstrom, fought and died. Any who came close were picked up and smashed into the crumbling buildings, if not burnt to ash by the lightning. But still, Gahiji went, undaunted.

Finally, they met in the middle of the small street, standing but five feet from each other. The small man peered up into Gahiji's face, smiling. Gahiji responded with a scowl, his brow furrowed with the effort of maintaining his barrier.

"You do realize they won't get far, yes?" the man spoke at last, his voice slightly higher than it should be. His smile never changed, and the crow's feet around his eyes crinkled as if he was deep in a good memory. "I'll find them and flay them to the bone, and then I'll parade their heads on a pole like the Orks do. After you're dead, I mean."

"And I am not deserving of such effort?" Gahiji riposted with a humor he didn't feel.

"I'll bury you in a proper grave and use your staff as a marker," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "After all, you are above those pitiful flatlines. The Gifted must be treated with respect."

"I see," Gahiji said evenly. "You're one of those."

"Oh?"

"A psychotic under the delusion our abilities make us intrinsically better than other people."

The short man shook his head, giving out a sad sigh. "Oh, you've been tainted deep with that Imperial drivel, I see. What a pity."

Almost faster than the eye could see, the sorcerer struck with his staff, a lance of electricity shooting forth. Gahiji responded just in time, his hand meeting the attack and catching it, forcing it into a small ball that quickly winked out of existence.

"I am a servant of the Red Giant and the Crimson Flame, as well as the Silver Light that shines above them both! Your dark powers will not avail you, spawn of Chaos!"

He drew his bolter, but the weapon shot from his hand and crumpled into a small ball. His opponent motioned the weapon aside, flinging it like trash. His expression was locked in a manic grin. With a roar, the Librarian thrust his staff forward, the wood crackling with electricity. The Sorcerer blocked with his own, the impact creating a small thunderclap that kicked up the dust of the street and pushing the two combatants away from each other.

"We fight with purer weapons, Astartes! Not these mundane toys!"

Growling, his eyes like small suns, the psychic marine slashed with his staff. A small wave of shining light burst forth, careening toward the sorcerer. With a contemptuous sneer, the man batted it aside, where it blew a hole in the street.

"Your abilities are not best set for combat, I see," he said before responding with his own wave, several times larger than Gahiji's. The Librarian held out his hand again, but unlike the previous attack, this one nearly took him off his feet. He had to hold back a scream as the power ripped through him, barely holding it back from shattering him. After a second, the pain left, leaving only a dull ache as Gahiji succeeded in nullifying the attack.

"Yes, your skills are better suited for another discipline," the sorcerer said as his own eyes glowed, sickly green to Gahiji's blue. "This won't really be much of an effort then."

He attacked again, with lightning this time, and once more Gahiji barely held back the energy behind it. He stepped back, struggling to hold his feet under the onslaught, only just keeping the wall of electric death from touching. His gauntlets glowed red with the heat of it, and his staff shined as well as he used it to help focus his power.

The energy faded away, and Gahiji struck again, two bolts of power firing as he darted to the side. The Sorcerer struck one away with his free hand, and the other he hit with his staff, the energy crackling along the eight-pointed star before dissipating harmlessly. Laughing, he struck out again, a wave of green fire bursting in all directions. Gahiji sliced with his staff, cutting the attack in two. The fires to either side of him struck the masonry on the other side of the street, the stone sloughing off like wax to flow onto the street.

Gahiji pulled his staff back up, ready to get stuck back in, but his opponent was suddenly in front of him, the crack of displaced air a tell tale sign of short range teleportation.

"I'm getting bored, Astartes!" the Sorcerer screeched as he grabbed Gahiji's armor, his hand melting into the diamond hard ceramite. Heat and lightning poured into the Librarian, and he screamed with the agony of it. Red-hot pokers pierced into his brain, breaking his thoughts to pieces before they could form. His blood boiled, and every breath was like breathing glass. Pain was his reality, encompassing everything and breaking him apart. "I'm going to finish this, and then I'll take my time with those other maggots!"

Gahiji's eyes shot open, two pools of light that shrouded his face. The Sorcerer flinched, and in that moment Gahiji raised his shining staff, striking the ground. _**"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"**_

The earth shook, and the shock wave sent the madman flying back, hitting the ground hard. For a moment he just lay there, but after a second he floated back to his feet, laughing madly. He was scuffed and bleeding, a large bruise covering his face, but otherwise he was fine.

Gahiji, on the other hand, was panting with exertion. His armor was cracked and broken, his chest plate with a deep hole where the Sorcerer's hand had plowed into it. He was burned and bleeding, and by this point he was relying on his staff to help keep him erect, the treated wood somehow holding up the marine's bulk.

"Yes! Yes! That's it!" he cried, a hand over his face as he shook with mirth. "That's what I wanted! Come on, Astartes. Give me more! Give me a challenge! No more dodging and blocking!"

Gahiji smirked, standing straighter and holding his staff forward. The rod had been glowing for the entire fight, but by this point it was glowing as bright as the sun. The Librarian pointed it at his foe, shaking his head as if lecturing a small child.

"So much power, and you use it like an idiot. Do you think I didn't know how much stronger you are than me?"

"So what then?" the Sorcerer cajoled, holding his own staff ready. "You've got to have something more! Don't tell me this is everything!"

"I've got something more, all right," Gahiji said through gritted teeth. "I've got every attack you've thrown at me, right here."

The Sorcerer had only a moment to decipher Gahiji's words, his eyes widening, before the Librarian's staff exploded. Eldritch power, lightning and fire shot out with the speed of thought, hitting the Sorcerer before he had any chance of dodging. Wailing, the man's eyes glowed like green stars as he tried to hold back the tidal wave that threatened to overtake him. Gahiji roared with the effort of directing the attack, only just managing to keep it pointed forward. A bolt came off his staff and struck his face, burning a line across his left eye, but despite this he pushed on, pouring everything he had into destroying his foe even as his gauntlet melted under the blazing heat.

The Sorcerer screamed as his power failed, his death inching ever closer. Finally, it tore through, ripping into him. Lightning blew off his skin in chunks while fire seared his bones to powder. His soul flickered for a moment under the onslaught, trying vainly to hold on, before finally dissipated in a horrified shriek. Where he once stood, there was nothing but broken, charred ground.

Letting the shattered remains of his staff drop to the ground, Gahiji stumbled to the side, barely reaching a still standing structure before he toppled over.

"Have to… get back…" he muttered desperately, struggling to remain conscious. His eye was agony, his hand little better. Every square inch of him burned with pain. "Have to…"

His eye rolled up into his head, and as darkness descended he knew no more.

{oOo}

They moved in a guarded formation, the men surrounding Trygg as he sniffed the wind. He had his helmet off; the feel of unfiltered air helping with the psychic treatment Gahiji had given him. It was a new experience for him. His senses had always been sharp, but now they were so much more. There was a scent that overpowered all others, subtle yet demanding. It was like grass on the wind, along with the faint promise of rain. Smoke and the smell of blood did not impede it, so clear was the trail.

Still, despite such a clear path, it was slow going. Without the armor and speed of the Chimera, the Knights had to make their way carefully across the war zone. Hordes of cultists thronged about, battling with the Orks. The Imperial Guard, wisely, stayed back behind cover and took shots at both forces while they were distracted, taking time to fall back and make sure the enemy never got a clean shot at them.

"Waaaaaaagggghhhh!" one of the Greenskins yelled as it charged from around a corner, three of its fellows following right behind him, brandishing crude axes and huge guns made of scrap metal. The fired, and the Knights dove to the side, getting behind a collapsed wall and returning fire. Two of the Orks dropped, but the others ploughed through uncaring even as the explosive rounds blew holes in their crude armor and ripped into their skin.

"Stay down!" Arya growled as he sliced, cutting one of them in half. The alien swung at him before life seeped from his ruined torso, guts hitting the ground even as his axe imbedded itself in the Knight's pauldron.

"Gonna take yer guts and-" the other managed in broken gothic before Amadeus' hammer caved the thing's chest into a bloody crater and sent the creature flying into a wall where it broke like rotten fruit.

"This is taking too long!" Arya snarled as he ripped the axe free from his shoulder armor. It was superficial damage, simply adding another scar in the black painted ceramite. "Trygg, do you know where we're going?"

"Yes, Brother Sergeant. Forward still. I can smell tha trail."

"Then we continue!"

The stayed in the shadows, going through the ruined carcasses of buildings rather than take the open roads. Despite the time lost in doing so, it was far less than if they had to fight skirmish after skirmish. Everything they did was to stay out of sight. They had to complete the mission; the glory of battle was unimportant.

Trygg winced as he saw where the scent led him. He looked out a broken window into a large square surrounded by what, in happier times, would be shops. In the middle was a fountain, a large statue of a woman holding a jar of pouring water surrounded by playing children. Thankfully the place was not filled with enemies. There was blood on the ground, though, and bodies littered the area. The shops themselves varied in size, some several stories tall. All suffered signs of recent damage.

"I don't like it," he muttered to the rest. "Does this look suspicious to ye?"

"It looks like a trap," Brax said in agreement. "The question is, was it for those already fallen, or is the enemy still here?"

_"I'm always here, little Knights,"_ came a voice in their vox sets. Brax grabbed Trygg and pulled his head down, only just getting him out of the way of a bullet to the brain. The round continued forth unimpeded, hitting the opposite wall and imbedding itself deep into the rockcrete. The techmarine followed the bullet's trajectory and fired back, bolter shells smashing into what had once been a drugstore.

"Dammit, sniper!"

_"Indeed."_

"He can hear us, switch to encrypted vox transmission!"

Keeping their heads down, the Knights changed their vox settings to short-range squad transmissions. Trygg put on his own helmet to listen in, cursing at how it dampened his ability to smell where the reborn Senshi rested. No other shots fired, but the marines kept their guard up none-the-less.

"Bastard must have the whole area bugged," Amadeus cursed.

"That is the most likely scenario, yes.

Arya smashed his fist into his open palm. "We don't have time for this! Trygg, can you find us a way around?"

"With all due respect, Brother Sergeant," Brax cut in. "I'm not sure that is a viable option. The enemy knows where we are and can track us. He'll either follow us or shoot us in the back at a distance. The mission cannot proceed while we worry of being struck by unknown forces."

"What are ye suggesting?" Trygg asked with growing trepidation.

"You three go on ahead. I shall remain and keep the enemy occupied."

Amadeus and Trygg moved to protest, but were stopped short by their sergeant's raised hand. "Are you certain, Brother?"

"I am, Brother Sergeant. With my eyes, I have the best chance of success." He hefted a grenade. "I will pave the way for you."

He checked the grenade out the window, where it erupted in a burst of smoke. Following up, the techmarine fired his bolter repeatedly into the air, hiding the sounds of his comrade's retreat through the haze. He ran from cover, making his way to another building before his bolter went dry. Ducking down, he checked his belt.

_Two clips,_ he thought grimly. _And one for the rifle. This will be tight._

_"Oh, you're good,"_ said the voice over his vox. _"Well, it works out for me. You're probably the most fun out of the lot, Silver Knight."_

Brax slammed the clip into his bolter and readied the weapon, peaking cautiously through a hole in the wall. The smoke had cleared by this point, his Brothers out of sight. Unfortunately, he still didn't know where his foe was. He ducked back, getting out of the way of another sniper's shot.

As fast as it had been, it wasn't fast enough. His eyes fed him information on a level far beyond mere organic ones, and he plotted the trajectory of the shot in mere moments. He turned back out of the hole and unloaded with his bolter, tearing through the open window of a two-story souvenir shop.

The techmarine waited, the seconds tensing by, before a figure crashed through the window. But what little hope had been brewing within him turned to frustration. It was just a servitor armed with a long barrel rifle, sparking and twitching from the holes his bolter had put in it. With a curse in binary, Brax got back behind cover before three more shots fired, each from a different direction. One clipped his pauldron, the force of it knocking him off balance. One of his mechadendrites grabbed the wall, steadying him before he tripped and fell.

_"So close," _the voice cajoled, giving no indication whether it was for Brax's return fire or the retaliation for it. _"Game's not over yet, though. Come on, Silver Knight. We've got more fun in the works."_

"How did you get this frequency?" Brax said before the voice could continue. It was just a distraction, however, so that he could shift his position to get a better look at the bullet holes in the wall.

_"Sent little pings on the channels till one got your attention. Wasn't that hard."_

_There!_ He thought in triumph. His eyes had finally found what he had been looking for. The bullet on the far left was deeper in the rockcrete than the other two. It had been fired from a higher caliber gun. It only made sense that his opponent would keep the best equipment for himself. It was a common habit among heretic forces.

He followed the trajectory, his eyes taking in all the little details. It would have been easier to plot it had he been paying more attention to when it had been fired, but he could work it out after the fact with just a bit more effort. As he did the math, he spoke again, trying to keep his opponent in the dark. "More difficult than most people think, and you've got servitors also. Dark Mechanicus?"

_"Well, I guess you're just going to have to find out."_

_Tallest building,_ Brax thought as he finished plotting the bullet's course. _Looks like a hotel. Fourth story. Damn. There's no way to get him before the other two tear into me. Have to take out one of the other servitors._

There wasn't a good bead on any of his foes from his current position, so he kicked out a side door and ran. High velocity bullets sent up chips of stone as they hit the ground around him, one hitting his leg just before he charged through the door of a nearby hardware store. He inhaled deeply as fire shot up his leg, the round going several centimeters into his armor and sending the kinetic energy into his flesh. But the ceramite held, stopping the bullet from piercing his skin.

_"~Got you~"_ the voice sung.

"Not good enough," Brax responded, holstering his bolter and taking the rifle from its place on his shoulder. The round had cracked his bone a little. Not enough to really hinder him, but it was noticeable. It became more noticeable as he made his way up the stairs, sending little jolts of pain up his leg each time he put his weight on it.

He hugged the wall as he came up to the second floor, staying out of sight of the windows. This was easier said than done given his bulk, but he managed to avoid getting shot again. He smiled as he found what he was looking for, a window at the side of the building.

Charging, he shattered the glass and leaned out, his mechadendrites the only thing keeping him from falling. He lined up the rifle on his shoulder, his augmented eyes allowing him to see the servitor several hundred yards away even at the strange angle he rested at. He pulled the trigger, and the combat machine's head exploded in a mix of metal and gore, painting the room red and black.

With a heave, he pulled himself back into the room before the return fire sounded, barely getting out of the way. Still smirking, he ran toward the other end of the room, knocking over several shelves along the way, and crashed out of a smaller window. He grunted as landed on his injured leg, but the bone held, and he couldn't afford to let it slow him down regardless.

He had landed in an alley, the narrow space between the buildings just barely large enough to hold his size. Unfortunately, the mouth of the alley was in line for the second servitor at the roof of a grocery store, which took its shot even as he crashed through the door of the adjacent building. It bounced off his pauldron and skimmed his helmet, making his head ring with the force of it and denting the ceramite.

Disoriented, he managed to get behind cover quickly enough to avoid getting shot again. He shook his head, clearing it and dispersing the spots floating in front of his eyes. He had to remain steady, had to shake it off.

_"Slowing down, Silver Knight?"_

"Hardly," Brax shot back, moving to the next stage of his plan. He pulled a large tube from his belt, a small hollow placed in its middle. Gently, he put another, smaller cylinder inside, the top of it a rounded circle like the other end of the tube. He closed it with care, twisting the top only half way.

"This is going to hurt so much," he muttered. Then, taking a deep breath, he holstered his rifle and rushed out the door.

The shots came immediately, the servitor hitting him from the left as the sniper shot at him from the front. Brax dodged and weaved, trying his best to throw off their aim. He threw one arm over his face while keeping the other to his stomach, clutching the tube close. But despite his best efforts, several bullets struck his armor, going deep into it. Two actually pierced it, and the techmarine grunted in pain as the bullet hit his chest. But the armor had slowed it down, allowing his genetically augmented rib cage to protect his organs even as the bone cracked under the pressure. The other went into his right thigh, tearing into the meat. He exhaled under the pain, but kept going. Already the wound was repairing itself enough for him to keep running.

He clicked the tube completely shut when he was but a hundred feet from the hotel, throwing it with all his might toward the fourth story. Once it had left his hand, he swung the rifle around, taking bead on the servitor on the roof of the grocery store, blowing its head off at the neck. Then he ran, just barely getting behind the fountain as his bomb crashed through one of the windows.

The explosion took out the entire floor, the force of it sending the roof sky high and littering the area with flaming debris. That was the least of it, though, for the shockwave continued in all directions, destroying the structure's load bearing walls. It tottered for a few precious seconds before falling inward, collapsing into a shattered heap of rockcrete, glass and wood.

Brax stood up from his cover, looking over the flaming, ruined pile. Smiling at his handiwork, he brushed a little dust off his armor. "Always wanted to use that one."

"I'm happy I could give you the chance," came a whisper behind him before the blade pierced through his back and out of his chest. The Knight gasped, clutching at the weapon. Before he could do anything else, though, a large boot kicked him, sending him crashing to the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Struggling for breath, Brax turned his head, just barely managing to glimpse his attacker.

It was an Astartes, clad in blue armor with a silver trim. His helmet was adorned with an eight-pointed star, and on his shoulder rested the symbol of a green serpent with many heads. Markings, like tallies, were everywhere on the ceramite, reminders of victories long past. His hand clenched the bloody sword that had pierced him so easily, single edged and slightly curved like a scimitar.

"Alpha… Legion?"

"Correct," the traitor marine said as he looked over the ruined hotel. He shook his head with a chuckle. "Damn, man. Haven't you heard of overkill?"

"How…" Brax began before the blood pulling in his mouth cut him off. His helmet was filling with the stuff, and he weakly raised an arm to pull it off before he drowned in his own fluids.

"Waited in hiding while you danced around with my servitors. Thinking the one with the biggest gun is the leader shows you're far too rigid in your thinking," the Alpha Legionnaire responded. "Gotta say though, I'm a little flattered. All this for me?" He waved a hand at the smoking rubble. "Hah! I almost regret killing you."

"Won't… won't let you…"

"Determination is all well and good, Silver Knight," the traitor Astartes said as he picked up Brax's rifle. "But you've lost. I ripped up your lungs. Die with a little dignity. After all, your comrades will be joining you soon. You lot are better sport than the Guard."

He turned, laughing a little. Wiping down his blade, he sheathed it and began walking to the edge of the square. He hefted the rifle, testing its weight, and it was that moment of distraction that cost him.

Yelling, his mechadendrites screeching as they supported his failing body, Brax grabbed the Alpha Legionnaire from behind. The techmarine's legs had long since lost feeling, the sword having nicked his spine, but he forced himself through it. He threw his arms around the traitor, holding him as tightly as he was able.

"Oh, come on. What is this?"

"Your flesh… is weak."

There was a rapid beeping sound, and the Chaos marine had just a second to scream when he saw the squarish bomb Brax held as he clutched the traitor close.

The explosion was small, but concentrated, the force of it cutting the traitor Astartes in half. He screeched in fury and pain as his life spilled from his broken body, a terrible sound that cut off suddenly as his body hit the ground. He gasped for a few seconds, clawing at nothing, and was still.

Brax couldn't manage a scream as the blast took his arm off below the elbow, there was too much blood in his throat, but he did grunt when he landed. His mechadendrites were a mess, one having ripped away entirely. The other sparked and twitched, the life in it fading just as surely as it did in the marine's organic parts. He smiled, softly, as the wind blew the smoke away, showing a clear sky.

"So blue… You… like blue… right? Lady Tekhne?" he whispered.

And the light left his emerald eyes.

{oOo}

"There should be a Guard platoon up ahead!" Arya said over the roar of the war around them. "We have to find another armored transport!"

"Yes, Brother Sergeant!" Amadeus responded as he pulped an Ork's head with his hammer. Trygg shot another two down with his bolter, cursing as the thing clicked dry. He ducked and reloaded, dodging a thrown axe as the brutish creatures charged forward. Slamming the clip in, he pistol whipped one of the greenskins and turned, getting out of the way of the other as it jumped at him. Arya cut that one in half while Trygg fired on the remaining one's face, blowing it into a fine mist.

"Good thing," he growled. "I'm almost out of ammo. How about ye?"

"Same," Amadeus said as they continued to run.

"Then let's stay out of sight. We can't afford any more-"

"Waaaaaaagggghhhh!"

"Dammit!"

The three dove for cover behind an overturned pile of scrap that used to be an Ork Trukk, barely getting behind in time to avoid fire from crude slug bolters and cruder slug throwers. Forty of the barbarian aliens were charging, waving cleavers and axes and firing everywhere. Arya slammed his fist on the broken vehicle in frustration.

"Bastards! We're pinned down."

"We need some kind of distraction," Amadeus said as he fired into the crowd. A few dropped, but most of the horde simply continued to charge.

"How?" Trygg asked as he fired from a different angle, trying to take the green monsters at the legs. "Tha platoon has got ta be out of range of our comms by now!"

"We'll press on through!" Arya shouted, adding his own bolter fire to the others. "We've come to far to fail now!"

But just as he was about to order the counter charge, another roar swamped that of even the Orks.

"Blood for the Blood God!"

A tide of bodies crashed into the Orks as the aliens crossed the intersection, red tainted armor clawing and slashing as it mixed with the green tide. They were a varied lot, from armored Guardsmen to foaming berserkers wearing almost nothing, but all were soaked in blood. Evil runes were tattooed into their flesh and clothing, but one was shown above all the others. On each cultist, crudely drawn or branded onto the skin, was the mark of Khorne.

They screeched in both rage and excitement as they dug into the Greenskins, who responded likewise. Crude axes met whirring chainswords; slug throwers exchanged fire with las weapons and autoguns in an orgy of violence. The Ork charge had stopped utterly, the creatures happy to brawl with anyone and anything, just so long as they could fight. The discipiles of Khorne were no different. They exulted in worship of their god, matching the Orks blow for blow and scream for scream.

The Knights took in all this in an instant, their strategy changing on the fly. As Ork and cultist blood soaked into the street, Arya silently motioned for his men to follow him into a side street. They moved quickly from their cover, trying not to attract attention. With luck, they could avoid this battle entirely.

Luck was not on their side.

"Servants of the false emperor!" a hoarse, booming voice called. It sounded like it was being forced from a man whose throat had once been cut. "Lapdogs of the weakling princess! I shall take your skulls for Khorne!"

Deep in the mass of bodies, easily batting aside one of the Greenskins with a revving axe, burst a towering giant in crimson armor. Easily nine feet tall, he tore through them, laughing as they gave way in bits and pieces under his powerful strikes. He was adorned in spikes and skulls, and on his neck he wore a heavy fur cloak stained red with blood. His face, for he wore no helmet, was a mass of scar tissue, new overlapping the old over every square inch of his hairless head. He punched another cultists out of the way, screaming even more curses, as he pushed onward toward the Knights.

"That's a World Eater," Amadeus growled as he clenched his thunder hammer.

"Aye, one of tha traitors that escaped Lord Angron."

Arya drew his sword, his face a thundercloud of frustration and rage. "We must dispatch him before he alerts the others!"

"Brother Sergeant," Amadeus cut in. "We cannot afford to waste time. Every second we are delayed increases the risk to Lady Esin. Please, leave this to me."

"Brother!" Trygg exclaimed, his face a mask of outrage and stubborn denial. "Ye cannot go alone! I won't stand fer it!"

"You have no choice," Amadeus responded. "The mission is more important, and only you can complete the mission. Failure is unacceptable."

Trygg's expression was wracked between fury and acceptance. He knew Amadeus was right, knew the mission had to be completed. But he couldn't just leave another Brother behind!

Arya laid a hand on his shoulder. "Trygg, we have to move."

Trygg turned, about to respond, but before he could Amadeus spoke again.

"Go, Brother. I promise we shall see each other again."

Trygg looked at him, at the determined stance of the Brother who he had so often butted heads with. He heard the steel in the voice of the Brother so unlike him, yet so similar. Amadeus was a solid rock against this horrific tide, and nothing could move him now that he'd set himself.

Cursing, Trygg turned and ran to the side street, Arya at his heels. Amadeus gave them a brief look before turning back to his foe. He smiled under his helmet, frustrated and yet oddly happy with Trygg's reluctance. "Go on, Brother. I'll hold back the storm for you."

"Come back, cowards!" the berserker bellowed, pushing his way through the clinging Orks. Some of the cultists noticed what was happening and broke away from the Greenskins, hollering and brandishing crude knives and stubguns. They cried curses and threats, dark promises thrown at the retreating Knights.

A bolt round shattered the head of a cultist. Another ripped apart a chest. Three more took out the legs of those behind them, and another four hit their marks blowing off arms. Amadeus aimed carefully, using his remaining ammunition to slow down the horde, bring their attention to him rather than his comrades. Two more fell, and then the gun clicked empty.

"The line is drawn here!" Amadeus cried as he threw aside his bolter, holding his hammer with both hands. "Not one of you filth will get past me!"

He charged forward, clothes-lining a hapless berserker and crushing his windpipe. He threw the dead man into the throng, taking two of them off their feet. Amadeus stepped on them, crushing bones, as he pushed his way to the towering crimson figure. The Khornate marine, likewise, smashed his way toward Amadeus, laughing as the blood stained the ground.

Hammer met axe, and the shock of it blew humans and Orks off their feet. Amadeus's hammer flashed as it struck, it's disruption field sparking like electricity with every hit. But the Khornate's axe did not shatter; instead it screamed as it revved, like a living thing, trying to get closer to tear into the one that hurt it.

Their weapons locked, and the Khornate brought his face close to the Knight. This close Amadeus could see the veins in the traitor's eyes, and the stub where his left ear used to be. "Yes, your skull will be a fine tribute! Gorchak Soulkiller finally finds worthy prey!"

He headbutted Amadeus, and to the marine's horror his helmet caved in under the force of the blow. It nearly knocked him flat on his back; such was the power behind it. Gorchak's strength was enormous! And he was fast! Blazingly so! It was all Amadeus could do to bring his hammer back up to keep the daemon axe from rending his head from his shoulders. The fact that he could barely see from his broken helmet didn't help matters.

With a roar, he tore off his helm and threw it at the hulking figure, who merely returned with a battle cry and knocked it aside. Blood streaming from his broken nose, Amadeus struck hard with a side swing, forcing his foe to move. He twisted the attack into an upward strike, which clipped Gorchak's chin. The shockwave blew him back, knocking over three Orks that were busy tearing two cultists apart. They bellowed in anger and raised their weapons. But Gorchak, blood pooling from his mouth, silenced them with a backhanded strike that sent one of them flying into another. He picked up the last one by the neck, ignoring the alien's struggles as it sliced into his armor, and tossed it at Amadeus.

Eyes wide, the Knight just barely got out of the way, knocking over another Ork. The creature howled and struck at him with a cleaver, which Amadeus blocked with his gauntlet. The blade cut deep, powered by the immense inhuman muscles of the Greenskin, but the armor held. Pulling back, Amadeus smashed its head with his hammer.

But despite the swiftness with which he had dispatched the alien, it had not been fast enough to avoid notice by its fellows. Two more cried out their gruesome battle cry, and that drew the attention of everyone else battling. Bullets bounced off his armor, claws scraped at his face. They were piling over him, smothering him. He reached out with one arm, grasping at the air as he was pulled under. Finally, his hand sunk beneath the mass of bodies.

And then his hammer burst from the top, crackling like a bolt from the heavens. Screaming with the effort, Amadeus turned, blowing a hole in the side of the pile of Orks and Cultists. He breathed heavily; his face bruised and scratched, and stumbled free as the horde attempted to right itself.

The whirring chain axe caught his left pauldron, sending him flying as it sheered through the thick ceramite. He landed roughly, the wind knocked out of him. He noted, as he righted himself, that his left arm wasn't working properly. A quick glance showed his shoulder armor was completely destroyed. The shoulder joint sparked and twitched, and he could only move it half way.

"Geh urp!" Gorchak yelled, his jaw hanging loose. Most of his teeth were shattered, and his mouth was pouring blood like a river. With a cry that shot droplets of blood everywhere, he charged Amadeus.

The Knight rolled to the side, getting out of the way just in time. With a heave, he pushed himself up and struck the Khornate's back, cracking his armor and sending him flying into the heart of the battle around them.

They were the center of attention now, Ork and cultist alike striking at them as they grappled with each other. A hammer strike blew off a portion of Gorchak's breastplate, while the Khornate's axe dug deeply into Amadeus' armored greaves. Attacks were traded furiously, going ever faster as they pushed themselves beyond their superhuman limits.

Oddly enough, as they exchanged blows they kept the raving horde from reaching them. Each time they swung, enemies dove out of the way, and when one of them dodged it was almost assured that they hit some hapless fool in that rabble. Such was their ferocity that even that blood drunk mob kept their distance, continuing to battle each other even as they kept an eye on the two hulking figures, waiting for a moment to strike.

Amadeus winced as his shoulder sparked more, slowing his sideswipe. Despite this, the Khornate used his axe to block rather than simply dodge it. It was then Amadeus noticed that the traitor marine's backpack power generator was sparking through his blood stained cloak, damaged from his earlier strike. Gorchak was having as difficult a time moving as he was!

Moving quickly, Amadeus struck again. And again! The daemon axe screamed under the onslaught, its teeth revving like it wanted to break free from the traitor marine's grip and sink its teeth into the one hurting it so. But Gorchak held it tight; barely managing to keep the hammer blows from breaking through. Amadeus continued to strike it, his hammer's field crackling ever greater as he shut down the weapon's safety precautions.

Finally, it could take no more. The axe cracked, and the daemon inside gave a shriek that made all combat stop with the agony of it. His rage conquered by disbelief, Gorchak watched as his weapon shattered, leaving him with just a broken hilt.

Amadeus wasted no time, taking the feet out from under the Khornate marine, sending him toppling to the ground. But even as he did so, the mob struck. Orks and cultists piled over both of them as Amadeus fought his way to stand over Gorchak, his hammer crackling ever brighter with barely restrained power. It was as if the marine wielded lightning in his hands, ready to smite down his enemies like a wrathful god.

Gorchak looked up at Amadeus in shock, awed by the energy standing over him. But as the Knight placed his boot on the Khornate's chest he laughed uproariously, his eyes alight with insanity.

"Courage!" Amadeus cried as hands grasped at him. "And!" he continued over Gorchak's mad cackling. "Honor!"

And, swinging the hammer down, the power cells overloaded. Light and force engulfed the area, saturating everything with the power of a thunderstorm come to wash the world clean.

{oOo}

The scent was stronger. It filled his nose so completely there was nothing else. It was so strong it was almost like a physical force instead of smell, pulling him along. It took Trygg an effort not to get lost in it, to pay attention to the war going on around them.

Arya cut down another cultist, his power sword slicing the woman in twain with hardly any resistance. He had run out of ammunition almost half an hour ago. Now he committed himself wholly to the sword, and to being the barrier between Trygg and the madness that surrounded them. He gave a battle cry, shoulder rushing an Ork and toppling it over, his sword taking it in the neck as it fell.

"Brother Trygg! Tell me you still have the trail!"

Trygg nodded, his eyes slightly glassy. He pointed with his power claw. "That way, Brother Sergeant. We're close now."

Arya winced at how distracted Trygg sounded. "Keep it together, Brother! We have to make it to her!"

Trygg shook his head, his eyes clearing. "I'm sorry, Brother Sergeant. Tha smell… It won't happen again."

Arya nodded and motioned for the marine to continue. Leading the way, Trygg took them down another street leading further into the hive. The fighting was getting thicker as they came closer to the spearhead of the Ork and Chaos forces. They were so thick you could hardly see the ground, bashing themselves against the distant Imperial forces guarding the population in the center of the hive so far away.

Which simply made it more difficult to get around without attracting attention. They went through buildings, took alleys and stayed off the main roads. They did anything to stay hidden. But despite their best efforts they continued to run into pockets of resistance. A band of five Orks in an alley, charging close and dying on their powered weapons. Seven cultists in an abandoned apartment, trying vainly to get cover between them and the charging marines. It was nothing they couldn't handle, but it still wasted time!

Arya looked carefully out of an alleyway, listening just as intently as he searched with his eyes. The street was clear, aside from the bodies. But he could hear the sounds of a great struggle near by. Perhaps the battle here had moved on?

"Come on," the sergeant whispered. "We've got to try and get to the other side of the street. That's where we need to go, right?"

Trygg nodded. "Yes, Brother Sergeant."

They ran out, each looking in a different direction as they shot down the street. They didn't bother to avoid the bodies, they were mostly Orks anyway, but they still slowed them down.

They made it half way before the wall of one of the buildings exploded in a cloud of rubble.

A huge figure careened through the air, cursing gutturally as it did so, and hit a house on the other side of the street. Roaring, covered in wounds, arose an Ork of ridiculous proportions. Easily four meters tall, covered in metal, he fired back into the hole he had come from with a gun that looked like it had been ripped off a tank and strapped to his arm. It boomed and kicked up smoke, explosive rounds ripping up the hole he had made even further.

"Come on!" he cried in accented, broken Gothic. "Gonna take yer hed fer me boss pole, ya git! Kagdrek's gonna…"

He was cut off as a blast of green fire washed over him, forcing him to cover his face even as he continued to fire. His aim got even worse than usual for an Ork, most of his shots missing the hole entirely and ripping craters in the abused building.

Stepping out of the hole was a scene from a nightmare. Smaller than the Ork, topping just over three meters, came what could only be a daemon. It was clad in regal garments, a blue robe with brass colored armor atop it, though they were tattered and stained with filth and blood. Its skin was reddish grey, like ash over smoldering embers, and its eyes were pits of purple light. Its long arms ended in claws, nails the color of brass, and its skin rippled as if barely containing the vile core of this creature. Atop its head lay several foot horns of varying length, like the crown of a dark king. From a maw of centimetres long teeth poured the eldritch flame, the air rippling around it as if recoiling in fear.

But despite this fearsome image, it was obvious the abomination was wounded. Four wings adorned its back, all broken and ripped. Glowing blood poured from several wounds, dripping to the ground and steaming in the process. It kept walking, however, getting ever closer to the Kagdrek.

Arya cursed as he and Trygg took what little cover they could find, which in this case was an overturned foodcart. He growled as they kept track of the situation, and Trygg couldn't help but agree. The damn monsters were fighting right in the middle of the trail!

Belting out a great "Waaaaggghhh!", the huge Greenskin reached through the inferno to grab the daemon by the neck, lifting him off the ground. Grinning through the mass of burns covering his face, Kagdrek struck the daemon hard, snapping its head back.

"Naw so tuff now, ain't ya!"

He struck again, laughing as one of the warp spawn's horns cracked under his gauntleted fist. Still chuckling, he reached for the gigantic axe at his belt and brought his arm down. But whatever Kagdrek was hoping for stopped when the daemon grabbed his hand arm at the wrist.

"That is quite enough of that," it said with a voice as smooth as oil over water. It brought its legs up and kicked the Greenskin hard in the chest, breaking free and making the hulking creature stumble.

Kagdrek blinked in surprise at his enemy's escape, but his confusion lasted only a moment. Opening his mouth and letting forth his race's savage battle cry, he charged forward, choppa raised high. With so much momentum it looked like he was simply going to run over the daemon.

Sneering, the hellish creature backhanded the Ork, sending the alien tumbling to the ground. Kagdrek blinked again and spat out a tooth. But before he could get up, the daemon slammed a clawed foot onto his chest.

"About time Lord Nurgle's gift kicked in. Damn, but I hate fighting Orks. You bastards are too tough."

"Wot…" was all Kagdrek could get out before the daemon punched him in the face, smashing his head into the street.

"I had to use up all of it, too! That was a personal favor from him, you stupid, green barbarian!"

Each insult was punctuated with a blow to the skull, breaking the warboss's metal armored jaw and reducing his face into a mass of bruises. But the Ork still lived, and weakly raised his arm canon to fire at the daemon. Sighing in frustration, the warp spawn lifted Kagdrek by his feet and spun. Once he gained enough momentum, he released the Greenskin. Kagdrek let out a storm of curses as he flew high into the air, his boisterous voice fading as he hit the ground somewhere in the distance.

"Well," the daemon said as he brushed some dust off his tattered robes. "That's finally done." He turned where the marines were taking cover, smiling with far too many teeth. "Oh, do stop that! There's really no point in hiding from me, after all."

Arya and Trygg stepped out, weapons ready. But they were shocked when the daemon opened his arms in a friendly gesture, as if about to embrace them. It stepped forward, and the marines stepped back. If anything, this made the creature smile wider.

"Don't be like that. I just wanted to thank you! My dear Arya and Fenrik. Without your efforts, none of this would have been possible!"

"Cease yer prattling, daemon!" Trygg roared, hefting his power claw. But Arya placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. He stepped forward, facing the daemon's amused expression with one of grim determination under his helm.

"What do you mean? How do you know our names?"

"Why, I'm hurt!" The daemon made a dramatic gesture, as if he was being struck in the chest. "But I suppose it's understandable. After all, it's not as if you all realized I was following your efforts. I was very careful, after all."

He paced around, smiling but never taking his eyes off the marines. They, in turn, kept a close eye on him, looking for an opening. But despite the daemon's casual stance, it was obvious to them it was ready to burst into motion at a moments notice.

"I have watched over your shoulders ever since you began this little quest. You see, we knew that your Senshi had been reborn. We just didn't know where. I mean, with the recent Black Crusade keeping us busy. Our eleventh, I believe. Really, we're going to win in the end. I don't know why you people keep resisting."

"We will never give in ta Chaos, ye scum! Get ta tha point!"

"Fine, fine. Ignore my attempts at pleasant conversation. You're almost as bad as that Ork. Anyway, I thought it would be a fine idea to simply follow you lot. It certainly made better sense than just searching for something we couldn't scry. I mean, honestly. You never thought to question who else Taran might have babbled to? It was just myth and folklore, true, but it was enough for me to get the idea. I managed to find the trail when you moved in the same direction."

He opened his arms to the sky. "So thank you, Silver Knights! All this is thanks to you! And when I give your Senshi's soul to my masters, they will reward me beyond your wildest dreams!"

"Never!" Arya cried, charging forward. Trygg was right behind him, his claw ready. "I will not allow it, daemon! I will cast you back!"

"Oh, I don't think so."

The daemon waved his hand, sending up a gale that forced the Knight's charge into a slow walk. Still they pressed forward, moving faster every second as the gale began to die down.

"Blast you, daemon!" Arya screamed over the furious hurricane. "Who are you?"

"In my mortal life I had many names. You may call me Tazabdulog. But your ancestors, Arya, called me Ogku-Uhel, I believe."

The name stopped all motion in Arya, and Trygg had to catch him before the wind sent him flying. Arya brushed off his hand as the wind finally stopped. He took a step forward, his hands shaking with rage.

"The bringer of death," he whispered. "The killer of my people, the defiler of Chogoris!"

His shout echoed, and Tazabdulog's smile grew even wider, and he closed his eyes as if relieving joyful memories. "Yes. It was so much fun when the Night Lords summoned me."

"Trygg, go. Find Lady Esin. I will remain here and deal with this filth."

The marine's eyes widened in alarm. "Brother Sergeant, ye cannot be serious!"

"Of course I am!" he snapped. "Go! Senshi Esin is all that is important."

Still Trygg hesitated, and Arya's face furrowed in frustration. "I gave you an order, Brother!" he barked. "Go!"

Trygg ran, and as he did Arya charged again. His sword sheathed in electric death, he struck at Tazabdulog. An instant before it hit, the daemon lifted the fallen warboss's choppa and intercepted the attack. The weapon glowed a strange, red tint, and aside from a thin scar the disruption field along Arya's blade did nothing to the thick slab of metal. But it was enough. Trygg had gotten past both of them and was already out of sight.

Laughing, the daemon struck back, the strength behind it taking the marine off his feet and flying through the air. Twisting, the Knight righted himself and landed smoothly. He had but a moment to get his bearings before Tazabdulog was in front of him, moving far faster than something that large had any right to.

Blows were exchanged in a blur, the two foes keeping pace with each other. But despite this, Arya found himself having to move back more and more to avoid being overwhelmed by the daemon prince's superior strength. Dodging an overhand strike, he twisted and slashed, cutting deeply into Tazabdulog's side.

"For Chogoris!"

The daemon roared and struck with its free hand. Once again Arya was sent into the air, his breath knocked out of him. He kept his feet, barely, skidding along the ground using his blade to stay upright. He idly noticed that his chest plate was warped, the force of the daemon's blow making a huge dent in the ceramite.

"Chogoris…" Tazabdulog purred as the knight steadied himself. "Yes. It's always been for Chogoris, hasn't it? Chogoris and Esin. My dear Arya, how foolish you are."

"Do not speak!" Arya screamed. "Do not sully her name with your foul tongue!"

Weapons collided once more, and once more Arya found himself being pushed back. He dodged more than he blocked, parried more than he struck. The daemon was too fast! It was too strong!

"I felt your thoughts while I followed you," Tazabdulog said over the din of their combat, axe meeting sword in a flurry. When their blades hit, there was a flash of light and a sound like thunder. "Everything for Chogoris, lost so long ago. It's haunted you, hasn't it? The fact that your people are scattered, your culture is dying!"

"You lie!" Arya thrust forward, forcing the daemon prince back a step. He capitalized on this, changing it to a slash that pug a line across the warp spawn's chest. He struck again and again, his rage pushing him to ever-greater bursts of speed and strength. It was Tazabdulog's turn to retreat, the daemon's skin covered in wounds as it barely moved aside from strikes meant to disembowel. "We live on! We live on in the Khan! We live on in her!"

"And that's why you were so willing to leave your men to die."

Arya's blade froze just short of Tazabdulog's face, the shock of the daemon's words sinking in. The eldritch creature batted the blade aside and lifted him into the air, its eyes glowing like purple stars as it wielded its psychic might.

"Ohh, struck a nerve?"

And with a twitch of his fingers, Arya was sent through the wall of the same building Kagdrek had flown through earlier. He felt his armor crack under the strain, little fractures riddling the ceramite under the unnatural force the daemon prince brought to bear. Warning signs flashed across his helmet. His armor was failing.

Forcing himself up, he stumbled his way to the stairs, moving as quickly as he was able. He just made it to the top when Tazabdulog poked his head through the hole. He stepped in further, looking for the hidden Knight.

"Oh come now. This is just getting embarrassing."

Yelling a wordless battle cry, Arya leapt off and landed on Tazabdulog's back. The daemon prince grunted in surprise under the marine's weight, and then screamed as Arya stabbed his sword deep into the creature's shoulders. He twisted the sword, ripping into the meat.

"She will bring it all back!" he cried, grabbing one of the daemon's wings. He pulled hard, the servos of his armor whirring frantically to match the output he demanded. With a sound of Tazabdulog's wail and the breaking of flesh, he ripped off the mutated appendage. "Our culture will revive at Lady Esin's return! Chogoris lives in her!"

His assault was cut short as Tazabdulog reached behind and grabbed him, slamming him to the floor. The daemon wasn't smiling any more, its face a mask of fury and contempt. It raised the choppa high.

"Chogoris is dead, Astartes." It slammed the heavy axe into Arya's stomach, the ceramite shattering under the blow. Struggling to breathe, Arya raised his sword. But it was no use. The daemon struck again, this time nearly cutting him in half. The marine didn't even have time to scream before the life left his broken body, his blood leaking out on to the floor. "I killed it."

{oOo}

The smell was everything, now. It filled him, filled his mind. Nothing else mattered anymore; he hardly registered anything that wasn't in his way. A part of him recognized there were the corpses of civilians in the streets now, torn apart fleeing from the invading hordes as the defences failed. A part of him saw it and was enraged, disgusted at the waste of life. But it so small compared to the drive that infused every fiber of his being.

It was an earthy scent. The smell of tall grass being whipped by the wind, of earth just soaked in rain. It was so clean. That's what really got to him. In over a century of experiences and battle he had never smelled something so pure.

He turned, getting off the main street. The trail led off the beaten path a bit. He moved quickly, stepping over bodies of Orks and Guardsmen. They were fewer here, the Greenskins preferring to stay on the quickest path to battle.

He pushed open a battered wooden door located at the dead end of the alley, the thing barely hanging on by a single hinge, and looked in. There were two bodies on the floor. A woman, bleeding out, and an Ork, a butcher's knife lodged deep in its throat. And beside the woman, pushing her gently and crying, was a small child with hair the color of windswept grain.

He was by her side in an instant. The child looked up at him, she couldn't have been much older than two years old, and turned back to the body. She pushed again, sniffling pitifully.

Trygg checked if she was still breathing, and almost jumped as she gasped. Her hands moved to clutch at the gaping wound in her chest, vainly trying to hold in the blood. Trygg added his own free hand, giving a gentle pressure. The woman looked at him, her fading eyes alight with hope.

"You came…" she whispered. "I saw you… Knew you would come…"

She gasped in pain, and Trygg fumbled for the basic medical equipment stored in his belt. He knew it would do no good. The woman's chest was all but caved in. But he could still relieve her suffering. He injected a painkiller into the woman's neck, and she sighed in relief as it began to dull her pain.

"Astartes…"

"Don't speak."

"No…" she gave him a weak smile. "I know… too late for me." She put a hand on the child's hair, ruffling it a little. "She's the one… you came for."

"Yes… I'm sorry. I cannot do anything more fer yer pain."

The woman closed her eyes, breathing more comfortably. "Found her in the field. Worked out there before… before the invaders came. Felt it when she appeared... Magnificent."

She hugged the child, pulling her close. The girl cried a little more, too young to understand what was happening but knowing something was horribly wrong.

"Always wanted a girl… Such a… beautiful child."

Her arms dropped, and with the last of her strength she looked up at Trygg. "Save… her…"

And her breath stopped.

Trygg closed his eyes, offering a moment of thanks for her departing soul. He closed her eyes with his unclawed hand, a last gesture of respect, before turning to the girl.

She looked up at him, blonde hair moving a little to cover her bluish green eyes. It was mostly certainly her. He had found what he was looking for.

"My Lady Esin, I have ta get ye out of here."

She didn't seem to understand what he said, but his gruff voice calmed her down a little bit. She looked at the woman, her mother, and pushed her again.

"Ma… Ma…"

"I'm sorry, little one. She's gone now. Come, we have ta make sure her sacrifice isn't in vain."

"Oh, it's far too late for that, Fenrik," called a voice from outside. Trygg stiffened, recognizing that oily tone anywhere. He put a finger to his lips and motioned for Esin to hide. She looked toward the door.

"Monsta…"

"Go on, little one," he whispered. "I'll be back for ye. Astartes don't back down on promises."

"Astart?"

"Yes, little one," Trygg said as he stood up. "Astartes. We keep tha monsters away."

He walked out, closing the door with his free hand while keeping his eyes on the hulking form of Tazabdulog. The daemon was worse for wear, his wounds regenerating incredibly slowly. His robes and armor were more torn now, and Trygg sensed weariness in the unnatural creature's posture.

"I don't suppose you'll just stand aside?" the daemon prince asked with a small smile, hefting the huge axe of the Warboss. "I've had a rough day, what with the Warboss and killing Arya."

Trygg responded by activating his power claw.

"I didn't think so."

Trygg charged, howling at the top of his lungs. Tazabdulog managed to get the axe up in time, blocking the crackling claws. But it neglected Trygg's opposite hand.

Tazabdulog grunted as the Dark Eldar knife buried itself in its side, where the armor was broken. Snarling, the daemon butted his head against Trygg's, the horns on the creatures head cutting him even as the marine stumbled back. The daemon dug the knife out and tossed it away, and Trygg used the opportunity to charge again, going low. The daemon jumped up, twisting in the air to strike at Trygg with the axe.

The marine altered his motion, going to the left as the huge weapon gauged out a furrow in the ground. But the daemon wasn't done yet. It turned its head toward Trygg, eyes glowing purple, and breathed its eldritch green fire. Cursing, the Knight had to keep backing away to avoid the hellish flame. The heat of it was so intense he could feel his beard beginning to smoke, and for a second he feared it would light up.

Tazabdulog took full advantage of Trygg's retreat, advancing even as the fire died. The axe was a blur of motion, and it took all of the Knight's skill to keep away from the daemon-powered blade. Even wounded and winded, Tazabdulog was a force to be reckoned with!

Seeing an opening, Trygg darted in, managing to strike deep in to creature's thigh. He continued his motion, hoping to catch the Warp spawn in the back. Tazabdulog's fist to his face, however, dissuaded him of this notion.

Trygg stumbled, and it was more luck than skill that allowed him to dodge the daemon's sideswipe. Blood was getting in to his eyes from Tazabdulog's earlier blow to his skull, and the punch to his jaw from the thing's huge fist hadn't helped matters any. His vision blurred, and that was when everything changed.

The axe came down on Trygg's right shoulder, shearing straight through ceramite and bone as it they were wet paper. The marine screamed as his arm dropped to the ground along with a river of his blood. The pain was so intense that the Knight couldn't see anything but a flash of white for a moment. Then along with the pain came a sense of vertigo, and he could no longer keep his feet. The still activated power claw ate at the ground and the red fluid, creating a faint crimson mist as Trygg fell.

The daemon observed its handiwork and stepped back, nodding in satisfaction. "Well, we can finally get along to business then."

Tazabdulog turned for the door, chuckling and hefted the abused axe over his shoulder. If the daemon had continued to watch Trygg, it might have noticed that the man was still conscious. Even so, it would likely have dismissed him. What could he do now? He was more than half way in to the grave as it was.

Similar thoughts went through Trygg's mind, along with a feeling of shame so strong it hurt even worse than the stump where his arm used to be. Even as fire coursed through his veins, wracked by agony and gasping for breath, he tried to move. But the pain was too great. Every twitch brought waves of torment, every gasp felt like he was breathing ash. He had to move!

He almost passed out trying to push himself up, his vision going black for a moment before he crumpled on to the ground once more. He watched, helpless, as Tazabdulog approached where Esin lay and despaired. Five years, they had searched. Five years they had battled against overwhelming odds. And now it was all coming to nothing. He had failed his duty. He had failed as a Knight.

Deep within him something raged, barely contained and wanting desperately to get out. He had held it in for so long, thought it unseemly of his position as a Silver Knight. Thought it too dangerous to ever be utilized. But now… Could he use this bestial part of himself now?

As the daemon put a hand on the door, he made his decision.

Before he had become a Knight, he had been a wolf. And wolves protected their young.

Tazabdulog was riding on a high even greater than when it rampaged on Chogoris all those years ago. Ripping the flimsy barrier aside, it was ready to move in and take its prize. For this, it would stand above all his rivals. With this, it would become the greatest god next to the dark masters!

A monstrous howl was all the warning the daemon had before something struck it upside the head with such force that Tazabdulog was taken off its feet. Its flesh flowed under the power of a disruption field, and one of the daemon's eyes melted as its head crashed to the ground.

Scrabbling, Tazabdulog got to its feet, axe ready. What it saw made the daemon's jaw drop.

Mouth frothing, blood pouring from his stump, the marine stood. In his solitary hand he held his dismembered arm, the claw crackling with electric menace. Raising his head, he howled again and jumped into the air, whipping the severed limb around and slamming the claw into the daemon's chest before the creature had a chance to move, cutting deep through the tattered armor and tearing into its flesh.

Roaring in pain, Tazabdulog struck back. But Trygg had already moved away. As the daemon overextended, the marine attacked once more, this time to the left leg. Tazabdulog swept the axe across, turning and snarling, but again it was too late.

Trygg hit the right leg on top of the wound he had made previously, forcing the daemon's leg to buckle. The overhand retaliation from the monster hit nothing but air before the axe embedded itself into the earth, and Trygg ran around to hit it in the back, the whipping claw raking bloody lines through armor, robes and skin.

Attack and fall back. Attack and fall back. Hamstring and throat, hit from behind. This was how wolves fought. Trygg howled in ecstatic release. No more restraint, not now. Now was the time to hunt! Use the pain. Feed the fury. Kill the enemy! Now was the time to kill! Kill and protect the young. Protect the pack!

The prey tried to hit back, tried to fend him off, but it was useless. The prey was wounded, lamed by its constant battles. Sluggish, limping, how could it ever hope to defeat a wolf that wielded weapons like a man?

Tazabdulog felt a flash of fear as its form flickered, blinking out of existence for a brief second. It was losing coherency! This filth, this mortal was breaking its hold on the Materium! He was making a mockery of it, of Chaos! How dare this pathetic lump of flesh, bleeding out and barely alive, do this to a bening such as itself! This was an insult!

Releasing its own howl to match Trygg's, the daemon rushed. A wave of fire erupted from its mouth, but the marine was already at the things side. Snarling, it raised the axe to take off another piece of the Knight, but Trygg struck first, the power claw on his severed arm slamming into the daemon's wrist and taking off its hand.

Tazabdulog screeched, feeling its grip on reality weaken even further. Desperate for anything to keep this monster, because there was no way a mere mortal could do this, it continued to swing down its arm. The thick limb slammed into Trygg's back, cracking the ceramite and crashing the marine to the ground with such force that it left an indention in the street and broke his grip on his mangled limb.

Trygg didn't move, his blood streaming from his wound. It had closed a little, but it was too great for even his super human enhancements to handle. Breathing heavily, holding on to its form by the barest of threads, Tazabdulog approached the fallen Knight.

"No more chances," it growled, leaning over the marine. "No more delays! I'll just kill you properly, and then I'll get to gutting that little whelp!"

Trygg exploded into motion not a second after the last word left the creature's mouth. Howling, the Astartes clamped his jaws around the daemon's throat. Long canines pierced the unnatural flesh, cutting off Tazabdulog's screech with a sudden finality.

But he wasn't done yet. Twisting, using leverage and his full body weight to his advantage once he had his feet under him, Trygg slammed the daemon into the wall of the building. Tazabdulog screamed as much as it was able as Trygg ran, scrapping its skull along the rockcrete. The warp spawn's face was filed down under the assault, skin and bone coming apart and smearing along the unmoving and unforgiving surface.

And then, Tazabdulog was gone, the only evidence it had ever existed slathered across the wall and echoing through the air as its death scream lingered.

Trygg threw back his head and howled, the loudest yet, at the defeat of his foe. He had won! Crippled and beaten, he had triumphed! The beast within him exulted in victory, in the blood he had shed! It screamed in joy at its release!

The howl died, and Trygg took hold of the animal inside of himself. The time for release was over. He had to complete the mission! Everything was in vain, everyone had fought in vain, if he couldn't complete their duty!

"Little one…" he rasped out of his abused throat. "Little one… please, come out. It's safe now."

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then Esin popped her head out from the door, looking at him. Her eyes were wide, and Trygg realized that the girl had watched the entire fight. He reached out his remaining hand, and she flinched. A jolt of despair and frustration welled within him.

"Please… little one. Please don't be scared."

Slowly, moving a little bit back with every step she took forward, Esin made her way to Trygg. Her eyes were full of fear, but overwhelming that fear was concern. But concern for what? It took the marine a few moments to realize it was for him.

"Don't you worry, little one," he said as he picked her up. She was a tiny thing, but to him it was as if she weighed as much as a Rhino! He wobbled for a moment before regaining his balance. "I'll be fine."

He took a few steps, slow and careful. Convinced he wasn't going to black out, he took a few more. He managed to make it to the main street when his legs gave out.

He tumbled forward. Esin shrieked at the sudden movement. But before he hit the ground a strong arm grasped his shoulder, steadying him. Grunting in pain, his vision swimming, Trygg looked to the side.

Gahiji stood there, one arm over Trygg's shoulder and another at his ribs, supporting him. The Librarian's left eye was a mass of burned flesh, an empty socket staring out where the sphere used to rest, and his armor was riddled with burns and fractures. But he was alive. Trygg's hearts soared at the sight of him.

"I have you, Brother," he said gently. He smiled at Esin, who buried herself deeper into Trygg's large arms. Trygg felt a tingling in his stump, alerting him that Gahiji was using his power to stem the bleeding.

"Thank ye, Brother."

And, as the sun set and the battle raged on, the two Silver Knights made their way back. Their task was not yet done. But as they watched the child settle in to exhausted sleep in Trygg's arm, they knew it would be.

{oOo}


	9. The Silver Knights Epilogue

TALES OF LOYALTY: THE SILVER KNIGHTS

_Epilogue: The Journey Never Ends_

{oOo}

He awoke to a spinning room, colors and lights flashing insane patterns before his eyes. They twirled and danced, confusing him and sparking a sudden pain behind his forehead. He groaned weakly, his voice barely audible but ringing in his own ears. There were other noises, too, off to the side. One was deep and strong, the other lighter and airy in a strange two-toned pitch. Neither was making his growing headache any better. And through it all he smelled something, something like wind over grass.

"You don't need to keep fussing over me, Anagantieth. I'm fine."

"You most certainly are not, Akil! You've lost an eye!"

"Rather minor, in the grand scheme of things."

Flashes of memory sparked. Gunfire flashing. Screaming enemies and monstrous green aliens surrounding him as he chased after something. Something important… What was it? A girl? Yes… It was a little girl.

His return to awareness continued, bringing back more memories. An unnatural beast, filled with dark powers and evil intent. There had been a battle. He had been struck…

And then the pain returned in full. Everything hurt. His muscles felt like they were filled with acid, his bones like they were shattered to pieces. He groaned again, louder this time, interrupting the voices.

"He shouldn't be awake," the lighter voice said.

"It's his Oolitic Kidney. He's shaken off the sedative and the painkillers. Dammit. At this rate his Sus-an membrane will likely send him into hibernation."

He felt a prick at his neck, and the pain lessened. After several minutes his vision cleared, revealing a slightly age worn, concerned face. He was completely bald, his head adorned with a few mechanical implants, and the area around his left eye was surrounded with barely healed burned flesh. The eye itself was closed. The man was clothed in a loose red robe, giving him the look of a scholar.

"Brother Gahiji…" Trygg rasped, and was startled by the weakness of his words. Was that really his voice?

"Yes, Fenrik. It's me. Rest, Brother. You're safe."

"Gahiji…" he rasped again. Memory was returning in a torrent now that the sedative and the pain was wearing away. "Lady Esin! Where is-"

"On the Eldar ship with us and safe." He motioned to the side, where small form was sleeping on one of the beds. Trygg followed his hand and observed the rest of the room. It was a medical wing, filled with strange contraptions and monitoring equipment. "We've been in the Webway for over a week heading toward Terra, most of which you've spent unconscious and healing."

"Healing?" Trygg looked over to his right and winced. Where his arm should have been was just a stump ending a little past the shoulder wrapped in bandages and riddled with wires and tubes. "Oh… Now I remember."

"You're lucky to be alive," Anagantieth said from the side. "Your arm is pulp, by the way."

"Ye picked up my arm?"

"We picked up many things," Gahiji responded. "Among them Lady Esin's adopted mother."

Trygg looked away from his stump, surprised. "Ye went back fer her?"

Gahiji gave a small harrumph and sat down on a nearby chair, the size of it barely enough to hold all of him. "I wasn't going to leave her for the damn Greenskins. The Guard had made enough of an advance that I requested they retrieve her body. But back on to the original topic, your arm is far beyond saving. You'll have to be equipped with an augmetics one."

"Well, that's just great." Trygg looked over at his arm again. Tazabdulog's strike had sheered straight through, taking the limb off just a little past the shoulder. He gave a small sigh and sat up a bit. "Amadeus will never let me hear tha end of this."

He turned back to Gahiji, grinning and showing off his long canines. "I can just imagine it now. 'If ye had just given it a bit more thought, ye'd still have yer arm.' Hah! Well, I can put up with… Gahiji, what's wrong?"

The Librarian turned away, wincing. Confused, Trygg looked to the Farseer. Old eyes looked back at his, and within their depths he saw… pity. Slowly the reason dawned upon him.

"No," he whispered. "No, ye're not serious. There's no way! Jarlan wouldn't just die like that! He said we'd see each other again!"

"It wasn't just Amadeus," Gahiji cut in before Trygg's rising voice could become a shout. His expression was pained, and Anagantieth moved over to him to rest a hand on his shoulder. He gave her a grateful glance before continuing. "Zorian and Arya… We retrieved their bodies as well."

"Brax… and tha sergeant… They're dead?" Trygg felt numb. Even the pain of his wounds seemed to fade into the background. Slowly, though, the numbness gave way to fire. He grit his teeth in fury, and with a roar he slammed his fist on to the wall, denting it. There was a crack as his hand fractured, but he didn't care. He was beyond pain, beyond anything. The beast inside him howled with anger and misery, crying for brothers lost.

It took Trygg a moment to realize he was close to tears in truth. He felt foolish, unmanly. He had lived over a century, had seen Battle Brothers fall before. He had mourned their deaths. But this felt worse, somehow. They had been searched together for over five years, had been part of a team for almost thirty. Everything they had been through, all the insane missions they managed to survive… A part of him had thought there was nothing they couldn't walk back from.

But that wasn't true. They were gone now. He and Gahiji were all that was left. And though he had slain the daemon, had been victorious in their mission, all he felt as the inferno of rage and icy despair mixing within his hearts. The tumultuous cocktail whipped around inside him, threatening to overwhelm him utterly in a storm of anguish and fury.

There was a slight touch on his leg, and his emotions stopped short. He looked down where a small hand rested upon his knee, connected to a tiny form that gazed at him with eyes brimming with tears.

"Ah'm sowwy," Esin croaked out, sniffling and rubbing her eyes. "Please no sad. Ah'm sowwy."

Trygg stared back at her, dumbfounded. _Why is she…_ He managed to think through his disjointed emotions. Could she actually feel what he felt? _She couldn't think…_

In one smooth motion Trygg embraced the girl, pulling her up one handed and holding her gently. She cried into his shoulder, getting the marine's thin shirt damp. He ruffled her hair a little, whispering in her ear.

"It's not yer fault, little one," he said softly. "Ye don't need ta cry. It's not yer fault."

She sniffled more and buried her face into Tryyg's shirt. And as he held her he felt his rage die. Sorrow filled in the gap, as well as purpose. They had all sacrificed greatly for this victory, given so much of them-selves. His comrades had laid down their lives for her. He would not taint that by lashing out.

He looked at Gahiji, and saw his feelings reflected in the psychic marine's single eye. So much had been lost. They would make it have meaning. There would be grief, and there would be remembrance. But despair would not be yielded to, and rage would be controlled. It would be for those who had fallen, and for the tiny child he held in his arm.

They would look toward the future, and they would make it better. They had to. For though in this age war was everywhere, it was not the only thing. The moon shown from above, and its faint light gave hope.

And in the end all that was ever needed was hope.

{oOo}


	10. Reaching Out

Great we Eldar were, glory without peer.

But by hubris, and fate, we were undone.

Our own hands held judgement's sword so severe.

Now sits a candle, where once shown the sun.

Lost, and alone, we wandered through the void.

No allies we had, no rest or respite.

To live, our goal. Extinction, to avoid.

And through all of this, _**SHE**_ laughed in delight.

But then you come. So small and yet, so strong.

Golden Light leading you where we once reigned.

And with you, She stands, so sweet Her soul's song.

Silver hymn making all peril contained.

Perhaps, with you, our fate we can defy.

Perhaps, with you, _**THIRSTER**_ we will deny.

_-A poem sent to the Palace of Terra eight hundred years after the Age of Heresy. The author, to this date, is unknown._


	11. The One Who Reached

{oOo}

Smoke clouded the sky, coming from the shattered ground and the broken bodies that lay upon it. Wretched men and women, their bodies warped willingly by eldritch powers, bleed out in rivers of blood and gore. Their forms perverted, the followers of Chaos had known no pain as they raged against their enemies. But it had done them no good, in the end, for despite this their bodies fell apart all the same. Among them lay slimmer, more elegant forms, armor made of a material not unlike ivory. When they bled, the crimson fluid changed to red gem stones, shimmering in the morning light.

_"I can feel the call… of the Infinite…"_ a deep, sonorous voice called, coming from a slender giant. Its body was riddled with cracks, and one leg had been blown off completely. It right arm was a charred lump, attached to the body only because it had been fused there, and a huge hole rested where its chest armor once was.

Beside it, a smaller form garbed in flowing black robes and the same ivory armor knelt, energy crackling off her fingers as she tried desperately to repair the fallen colossus. Her black hair covered her face as she bent down, drawing on more and more power to fix the broken body of the maimed construct. But she was not a Bonsinger. The ways of manipulating the wraiththbone were beyond her. At best she just delayed the inevitable, like holding back a river with just her two hands.

"No, Father! Please, don't go!"

_"Dear child… My wraithbone is cracked… My will fades."_

"I can repair you! You can't leave me again!"

_"So young… I left you so young. I'm so sorry… my dear child."_

She buried her face in his armor, the cold of it making her tears burn even hotter. She shook her head. "It's not your fault, Father. It was never your fault."

The Wraithlord was silent, for a time, before gently lifting his child's face with his remaining arm. With a large, impossibly long finger it brushed the tears away. She grasped it, holding it as long as she could before the weight of it took it from her grip.

_"My… soul stone… Please take it."_

"Of course, Father."

The long, tapered head leaned back, the intelligence leaving the broken shell. The cracks grew, like the sound of bones snapping. Already she could feel what little warmth his spirit gave leaving the ruined body he had worn for so long.

_"Save… the others…"_

The light faded from its eyes, and the Warlock sobbed as she gently took the soul stone from its place of reverence.

"Father…"

She screamed to the sky, her power creating a small storm all around her that tore up the ground and sent some nearby corpses flying.

"Why! Why is this happening! What more do you want!" The storm grew in size, and the ground trembled as she wailed. "Haven't we suffered enough?"

She collapsed, clutching her Father's crystalized spirit, holding it close. All around her psychic might faded, the atmosphere returning to normal as the ground ceased its shaking. It left her exhausted, her power gushing out uncontrolled like that, but she hardly noticed it. She shuddered and cried, having lost her parent for the second time in her relatively short life.

A rasping laugh took her attention, and she looked to see one of the cultists. Mortally wounded, yet not dead, he looked at her with eyes full of madness. He lifted his head and spoke, his voice more pitched than it should have been, like he was high on some narcotic.

"She desires your souls, Xeno," he said through a gurgle of blood. "Slaanesh desires the souls of every Eldar, and She will have them. That is your fate, the destiny of your race!"

He let out a cackle, the sound of it steeped in insanity, before with a furious roar the Warlock plunged her blade into his throat, nearly taking off his head. Even as he died, the man smiled, the rictus grin still chuckling at the futility of her anger. With a grunt, she pulled the sword out and stabbed the corpse again through the eye before finally her rage left her, replaced with a grim determination.

"No," she whispered. "I deny this fate! I deny it! I deny you, Thirster!"

She stood, her father's soul clutched to her chest and her bloodied sword at her side. She strode forth, her fathers words ringing in her mind, begging for her to save the others. Begging her to save her species from an end far worse than death.

"I will save them, Father," she closed her eyes to keep the tears back. There was no time for crying now. "I will save them."

And on the blasted earth and ash filled air, the web of fate shifted, and the destiny of two species changed as the Warlock followed the silver song she heard so far away.

{oOo}


	12. Fall of Giants

FALL OF GIANTS: _The Eightfold Star of Deceit_

{oOo}

"Incoming!"

Yellow armoured men ran along the walls as artillery fire hammered into the battlements, blowing huge chunks in the adamantine structure. Growling a curse, captain Jared Torm motioned to the rocketeers. "Take those damn tanks out!"

Moving as one, the heavy weapons squad hopped to it. Thrusting his other hand, the captain waved to his comrades manning the turrets. They responded even before his gauntleted fist completed its travel, guns sending hot metal death among the mass of men hundreds of feet below, giving cover as the missile laden marines found the best position. Even then it was of only moderate help. So many was the enemy that even if they hadn't been aiming the sheer amount of fire would have guaranteed a hit on the defenders, but the turrets disrupted slug and las fire just enough. That was all they could really hope for.

The super heavy tanks fired again, and Jared ground his teeth in frustration as they blasted new dents in the wall. The men on the ground had been pushed back too far. Artillery from a distance was one thing, but when Baneblades could get this close to the palace was another thing entirely! The eastern wall of the palace was designed like all the others to take truly staggering amounts of punishment. But even they would crumble under weeks of fire from the huge barrels on the super heavy tanks. If they didn't take them out now they'd dig in under proper cover and they never get rid of the things!

He heard over the comms that his men were in position, and it was with a smile Jared gave the order.

"Bring down the sky, boys!"

Rockets fired, hitting the Baneblades dead on as the tanks moved toward their destination. The heavy metal crumbled under the onslaught of armor piercing explosive shells the size of a man's head. It truly was like the sky was falling upon them. Before long what used to be two score tanks were nothing more than chunks of flaming ruin.

"Push them back! Take the trenches!"

Assault marines flew down from the wall to aid the beleaguered soldiers below, precision strikes disrupting the enemy's advance. Slowly, but noticeably, the mass of men turned back under the barrage from both the ground and the turrets on high, not to mention the steady volley of rocket fire from numerous sections of the wall. Men screamed and died, blood flowing down into the rockcrete and staining it a dirty crimson.

One hour later, all was quiet again on the eastern front.

"Dammit," Jared said through gritted teeth as he took off his helmet. Men were scrambling to get things back to one hundred percent combat readiness. He'd been moving around for hours after the assault ended, making sure things were in order. The Imperial Fist captain pulled out a smoke stick, laughably small in his giant hands, and lit it. Half of the thing was gone in one pull, and he breathed out a grey plume as he looked over the edge of the battlements.

"Speaking freely," came a voice from behind. "I don't know why you take those things. It's not like you can get anything out of it."

Jared quirked an eye and turned around, looking up a little at the golden armored Custodian. He took another breath, finishing off the stick and flicking the filter away and breathing out the smoke.

"Grew up in the underhive, Custodian Haedon. Old habits and such. Helps me calm my nerves."

The Imperial Fist could have sworn he saw the Custodian's puzzled expression. "So you admit to fear, then?"

"I admit to feeling concerned. That last push got way to close to the wall. We've gotten careless. With the bulk of the traitor's forces at the main gate, we've dedicated most of our manpower there. We're incredibly undermanned here."

Haedon nodded. "That is true. Do you know how much damage we took?"

"I can find out."

Jared waved to a marine with a dataslate, who promptly came over and handed it to him. Punching in his command codes over the encrypted information network, the slate began streaming figures.

"We lost two hundred fourteen marines on the wall. Relatively light, all things considered. We lost more on the ground, near enough two thousand men and eight hundred marines." He paused for a second. "Dammit. They hit most of our sensor equipment. Baneblades took it out in the middle of the assault."

"That is grave news."

The captain gave the slate back to his subordinate, who rushed off to complete his other duties. Jared pulled out another stick and lit it, taking a drag before responding. "Yes, but we've been working to get them back online. We should have them up at least partially very soon. Really, I think this was just a test to see if we'd buckle under more force. We're probably not going to get anything quite that heavy again."

_"Sir! Sir, please respond!"_ came the call over the comm, so loud that he almost winced. Jared spat out the tobacco and wrenched his helm from his belt, practically slamming it back onto his head.

"Report!"

_"Sir, we have the sensors back online!"_ Jared recognized the voice belonging to one of the techmarines in his company. Harvek. The man's voice was on the edge of full-blown hysteria. What could have unnerved him so? _"The Baneblades were a distraction!"_

The Imperial Fists captain felt the pit of his stomach grow cold, and with shaking fingers he made the optics in his helmet look into the distance. He could just make them out. There, shadowed by smoke and the fading light, three towering figures strode forth. Each was massive in scale; bristling with weaponry and making the ground tremble with each mighty step. Their faces were like skulls in parody of the human form, leering from their vaunted positions above mere mortals. On each arm was a cannon, on their backs massive tubes loaded with missiles. These were the city killers, the army breakers. These were the god machines that destroyed everything in their path as they marched toward destruction. Immovable. Unstoppable. Unbreakable as everything else shattered against their power. It took Harvek's continued, frantic report to remind Jared how to breathe.

_"The Titans are here!"_

Fire and noise engulfed the world, and the wall shook. Six powerful, mountain-shattering rounds had hit simultaneously, warping even the ceramite-coated adamantium that comprised the towering structure. It took everything Jared and Haedon had, every superhuman reflex, to remain standing as the metal shook like the ocean in storm.

How had they snuck up to them? All the Titan Legions were fighting at the main gate. How could three Reavers get away unnoticed to flank the palace?

"Everybody take cover!" he screamed into the vox. "Turrets, fire! Fire everyth-"

Once more a noise like thunder took over the world, but this time the fire was much larger. Jared couldn't hold back a scream as the Titan fire broke through the wall. The structure lurched, vainly attempting to retain its shape. But it was no use. Crumpling under its own weight, the mighty eastern wall collapsed. Jared and Haedon scrabbled for purchase, anything to keep them from the slanting edge as gravity took hold. They managed to hold on to some bolted pieces of machinery as the ground rushed up to meet them.

The next thing Jared knew was pain, and something shaking him.

"Jared! Jared, get up!"

The captain shook his head, clearing away the pain and the fog. Haedon was standing over him, his helmet ripped off and bleeding from the temple. "On your feet, Imperial Fist!" The Custodian roared before hefting his spear, bolt rounds laying into the enemy Jared was only just now seeing.

Grotesque creatures of every shape and size were pouring out from around the feet of the god machines. Some appeared like men, several did not. They moved with uncanny speed, and Jared noted with growing horror that the Titans had made ground while he had been unconscious. He picked up his bolter and shot into the horde, an action that reminded him of throwing water droplets onto a fire.

But even worse was the wall. Where once had stood a mighty bastion, a bulwark against invasion, was a gaping hole. The Titans had wrecked the beautiful defense, crafted by his Primarch Rogal Dorn, to utter ruin. The gash went almost down to the ground, and spread out wide along the remaining portions of what had once been the east wall.

"All men, to the eastern front!" he yelled into his vox, cursing as the thing crackled on him. "We've been breached! If anyone can hear me, we've been breached!"

A rounding chorus of "yes sir!" responded, and Jared took in his surviving men. Several had already been on the ground when the wall had broken, but a number had survived the fall. Hundreds of Imperial Fists lined with Custodians, standing side by side with thousands of the army.

It wouldn't be nearly enough.

The horde rushed on, disregarding its own dead under their trampling feet. They were so close now. Jared could make out individual features among the mob, a tide of claws, teeth and horns. He ducked under a piece of rubble as bolter fire erupted toward him. Claws, teeth, horns and guns. Nearly losing his head was an affordable price for regarding the enemy as mere beasts.

He jumped back up and fired, emptying his clip. Haedon was rushing forward, his polearm cutting into a monster with too many limbs. He was backed up by four hundred of his fellow Custodians, all of them acting in unison as they fell upon the enemy. They formed a square, creating a solid mass of armor and spears and bolter fire. For a moment, they pierced the enemy, pausing their advance.

"Imperial Fists! Imperial Soldiers!" Jared cried. "Back up the Custodians!"

What had once been firing into a tide of bodies became disciplined cover fire, helping the Custodians hold the line where the broken wall met the earth. Jared threw his bolter away, long having run out of ammunition after the fighting earlier in the day. He picked up a chainsword next to a fallen marine.

"Come on, you bastards!" he screamed over the howling of a winged monstrosity as he cut it in half. Despite the best efforts of the Custodians, backed up by the firepower of the Imperial Army and the Imperial Fists, the wave of the screaming damned pressed on. It started slowly, but soon enough the Custodians were forced back. First one step, then another as they retreated to the consolidated position with the rest of the men.

And over them all stepped the Titans, not even bothering to use their main weapons. From their backs erupted a barrage of missiles that pelted at the men and the wall, sending bodies from both sides flying in charred ruin as the ground was torn asunder.

Jared stepped back as he took the charge of a crazed giant with the face of an insect, lopping off a hand before stabbing it through the stomach. As the thing fell, its lifeblood pooling with its entrails along the ground, the Imperial Fist realized he was almost to the wall.

His thoughts flashed in an instant. He brain worked at incredible speeds as time itself seemed to slow around him. There were thousands of refugees in the palace, hundreds of thousands. Everyone not suited for battle was there, hiding behind the defenders and hoping they could keep them safe. The multitude of corridors and rooms were filled with the old and the infirm. The weak and wounded and broken. The children…

_They are my bulwark against the terror._

The words rang through his head, spoken long ago yet still heard so clearly. He stepped aside from a charge and cut his sword into an Ogryn's neck, beheading it in one swoop.

_They are the defenders of Humanity._

It was one of the greatest honors ever given in the history of mankind. No marine ever went a day without being reminded of it, and thus being reminded of their duty. He took fire as former Imperial army men charged, lasbolts hitting in such quantities that he could feel the heat even through his armor. He gutted them as they came close, and his men consolidated around him as the Custodians finished their withdrawal to the main defensive line.

_They are my Space Marines and they shall know no fear._

"Not one step further!" Jared roared, punching a screaming madman in the head and pulping his skull. He slashed a line in the ground before cutting off a claw at the elbow. He followed up by cutting deeply into a screeching, putrid abomination before he locked swords with a horrifically daemonic creature with blood red skin. "You'll not take one step past me, monsters!" he gritted out as he pushed his augmented muscles against the daemon's warp spawned flesh. "You think we'll just let you have your way? Think you can just destroy everything we've worked for?" he shouted as the creature snarled and spat at him. "We are the Imperium! I am a son of Dorn! We will never break!"

"Well spoken," came a deep, sonorous voice behind him. The daemon screeched and fell back, and Jared looked over his shoulder.

Towering above even his own impressive height, power shining in his eyes like two motes of gold, was the Emperor. His ornate, golden armor glowed with its own inner light, reflecting the strength of its wielder. He simply looked into the foul mob and the creatures battling the defenders screamed, blowing apart and then ceasing to be entirely.

The Titans turned to this new threat, bearing their guns down. But as they did so the leg of the leftmost one was wrenched from its body, the huge limb tearing off in a screech of metal. The thing teetered for a second, struggling to maintain its balance before the gigantic metallic slab smashed into the Titan's head, overloading the void shields and crushing it utterly. The other turned toward its fallen comrade, but before it could do anything a ball of energy the size of a tank flew through the air and blew through its chest, ignoring the thing's shields entirely. It sparked and twitched, trying to remain standing, before falling back with a boom that shook the ground like an earthquake.

The final Titan picked up speed, careening toward the palace as if eager to succeed where its fellows had failed. It fired everything it had, the missiles from its back and its staggeringly powerful limb armaments. But it was all for naught. The Emperor raised one power clawed hand and everything firing toward the palace ceased its motion before fading from reality. Then the Titan itself slowed, its charge reduced to meager steps before it ceased entirely. Its legs kicked a little as it was lifted into the air. The mighty war machine crumpled, the metal giving an almost animal scream as it compressed in on itself. In seconds what had once been one of the most powerful weapons in existence was simply a ball of scrap. And then even this was gone as it winked out of existence.

Jared went to one knee, as did the rest of the men. The Emperor looked away from his work and to him, the golden fire of his eyes dimming to a mere glow now that the combat was finished.

"My Lord! Thank you for your deliverance."

"Stand, Astartes. Stand, all of you. It is not just myself you should thank for this victory, but yourselves as well. You held the line against overwhelming odds. By all rights you should have been overrun in the first minute, but you held. You have all proven your courage this day."

Reluctantly, Jared got to his feet; pride welling in his hearts, as he knew it must in every man there from Astartes to army man. He only had eyes for his liege, but noted in his peripheral vision that the other men stood as well. Haedon, bloodied but alive, moved to stand next to him, bowing his head in respect to his Lord.

There was a crack of displaced air, and a towering figure in yellow armor appeared next to a green haired woman clad in golden plate not unlike the Custodians. Jared had to fight the urge to fall to one knee again. Instead he merely clapped his fist to his chest in salute.

"My Lord Dorn. Lady Alta. My thanks for your assistance."

"The pleasure was all ours," Alta responded. Rogal nodded, acknowledging his subordinate with a small smile before turning to the Emperor.

"Father, this attack came much too close. How did three Titans slip past us?"

"Lorgar used the distraction at the front gates. With so many Titans warring against each other, who would miss three moving to flank the east? Especially after an initial assault neutralized long range sensors?"

"Cunning," Rogal rumbled as he rubbed his chin with one huge power gauntleted hand. "I had not thought Lorgar capable of such strategy."

"Lorgar is capable of many things," said Alta, her staff resting easily in her arm. "After all, he orchestrated this rebellion right under our noses."

"Indeed," the Emperor cut in. He looked down at the Senshi, deep in thought. "Alta, you have lived through a similar event. What is your opinion?"

Jared blinked in confusion. The Senshi had lived through something similar to this? But that was impossible. This war, this horrible, years long war spanning the entire galaxy could not have occurred before. That was more bloodshed than even an Astartes could properly process.

"The Silver Millennium fell in months, Emperor. It is not a true comparison. That the Imperium has lasted years under this assault speaks well for us. That the palace has held so long under siege speaks even more." She looked to the sky, past the clouds and the flashes of light where great ships did battle so many miles above. "And I can feel the Princess returning."

"Yes," the Emperor rumbled, his eyes glowing a little brighter. "I can feel Serenity approaching fast. Leman and Magnus are with her. This siege will be over soon. And Lorgar knows it too."

"Father?"

"He has lowered the shields on his ship. Long has it puzzled me that I could not force my way past his flagship's defenses, but he must know of Serenity's return as we do. He is baiting me."

"This is an obvious trap."

"Indeed, but it is also our best chance. Lorgar can end this. And if he refuses, then we must ensure he is can never do this again."

Rogal nodded, his face grim determination, while Alta closed her eyes and gripped her staff more tightly. "The Princess will be saddened by his death."

"As will I, if it comes to that. But I have lived my life doing what must be done, no matter how difficult. I will bear that blood on my hands." He turned to Jared and Haedon. "Jared, Haedon, I will require two hundred Custodians and Imperial Fists. Do not fear. Reinforcements are already on their way here. You will not be abandoned."

"My Lord, forgive my impertinence, but doesn't that number seem small?"

"We must move quickly while inside," Rogal cut in. "Too many men will slow us down."

"Alta, I would ask that you remain here and support the men." The Emperor turned to the ruined wall, and the broken chunks flowed like molten wax into the wounded surface. In the end it fit seamlessly, and the only indication that it had been damaged at all was the fact that the repaired section went about sixty feet lower than the rest of the structure. "We can't afford to commit too much in case this is another elaborate ruse."

Alta nodded. "Come, Captain. We must prepare. I doubt our enemies will let us rest for long."

Jared nodded, sparing only a glance back at the Emperor and his Primarch. Around them golden and yellow armored figures gathered, getting in close as the Emperor prepared to teleport them all into the flagship of the traitor. With a flash of golden power, the displaced air bursting like thunder, they were gone.

{oOo}

The first thing they noticed was the smell. As the marines and Custodians spread out, quickly dispatching anyone in the room, the smell drew their attention. It wasn't the sickly sweet smell of dead meat that pulled their attention away from their work as they cut down the mutated creatures inhabiting the place they had been transported to. They were used to that smell. It wasn't even the deranged, warped architecture of this place, with it's oddly flesh like metal that unnerved them so. No, it was the overpowering presence of incense that made them blink in confusion even through the autosenses of their helmets.

"Lorgar was quick to lose all subtlety when he cast us aside," Rogal said bitterly as he waved a hand in front of his face clear the air. "Father, do you know where… Father?"

The Emperor stumbled, faintly and only for an instant. A normal man would have missed it, but Rogal Dorn was no normal man. He put a hand on his father's arm, concern lining the hard crevasses of his face. The Emperor gave his son a small smile before waving him off. It was only slightly forced.

"Lorgar has done something to this ship. It is… tainted. Yes, that is the best word. So long has it been steeped in the foulness of Chaos, in such potent quantities, that my powers are stifled here. I have to force my mind through mud and filth. So strange after so long, to be limited thus."

"He set the battlefield to his advantage then. We should leave and strike again at a better time."

The Emperor shook his head. "We will never have a better moment than now. Lorgar will flee when the others return. This is our best chance."

Through the walls, the doors, the very air itself, came disgusting creatures in every shape imaginable. They screeched and howled, laughed and moaned as they descended upon the party. Bolter fire erupted, blowing apart unnatural flesh as the group made its way at the Emperor's direction. Power gathered within him, but he did not use it. He was bastioning himself, drawing as much of his might as he could within the fortress that was his mind. His core was stronger than diamond, more durable than the purest adamantine. He would not waste his strength upon these lesser foes, not while the greatest threat still lay so far ahead.

Rogal roared and smashed a gibbering thing with too many eyes with his power fist, it's disruption field working seamlessly with gargantuan strength to blow the thing to pieces. He stood in line with the rest of his men, keeping the disgusting things at bay. He knew what Father was doing, what he had planned. It only made sense, though it grated on him to be playing to Lorgar's whims in such a way. How many men would they lose in order to achieve victory?

As one of his Imperial Fists went down under a mob of crab clawed abominations that mocked the female form, he knew even one was too many. Lorgar would pay for this. As he lay into the beasts, their shrieks of pain sounding far too much like moans of pleasure to his ears, he vowed his brother would regret throwing his family away like so much garbage!

Daemons and corrupted men screamed foul blasphemies, and the Imperials responded in kind as they cut their way through the bowels of Lorgar's flagship. The walls and floor writhed occasionally, as if a living thing, and the air smelled of disease and blood under the overpowering stench of incense. As men fought and died around him, the Emperor guided their path. He grit his teeth as he sent his will throughout the corruption that saturated every fiber of the vessel. It was almost as if this ship was a realm of one of the dark entities of the Warp, but such a thing was impossible. With one small portion of himself he wondered how Lorgar could have achieved such a thing. Mostly he focused on leading them quickly toward their destination.

Eventually, after forcing their way through miles of daemons and warp-crazed things that might have once been marines, they came to the great doors of the ship's bridge. In front of them stood a towering, cloven hooved abomination with two great horns adorning its head. Its skin was red like blood, and in one hand it carried a fell axe of immense size. It bellowed a challenge to the invading party as they cut their way there, battling inch by inch through bodies and blood.

"Anathema!" it roared in a voice like bones cracking over torrents of fire. "I will take your skull for my lord, and your children shall be gutted for his pleasure!"

And it was then that the Emperor had had enough of holding himself back.

The doors burst open with a thunderous roar, the daemon who had stood in front of them squealing as it disintegrated into ash. The Emperor's face was a mask of inhuman determination, barely noticing threats as he gathered his power. All around him the Custodians and the Imperial Fists fought with corrupted marines and foul warpspawn, Rogal was engaged with one that was easily twenty feet tall, but he only had eyes for the man looking out of the bridge's view port.

"Hello, Lorgar."

The man turned around, and the Emperor almost recoiled at what had once been his son.

"Hello, Father."

"Lorgar, what have you done to yourself?"

The Primarch smiled, a ghastly thing on a face both beautiful and horrible to behold. From his armor came an unearthly red light, like the fires of hell made manifest. His skin was darker, as if under the sun for too long, and on his head were four large horns. His hands were larger than they had been, shaped like claws and clutching a scepter topped with an eight-pointed star. But despite all these changes, the Emperor recognized his child; saw his handsome features even through the horrific taint that he had willingly inflicted upon himself.

"As a reward for my actions," Lorgar answered. "I was allowed to sit at the table of the gods. I have eaten their meat and supped their wine, and I came through the experience changed. I am akin to them, now."

"You have destroyed yourself."

"I have uplifted myself!" Lorgar shouted back, one clawed finger pointing accusingly. "Don't you dare criticize me! Not now, not on the eve of my greatest triumph!"

"And has that been what this is about?" the Emperor growled. "That I forced you and your legion to kneel at Khur?"

Lorgar's face was a hurricane of contempt and hurt, his lips curled in a sneer even as his eyes clenched in remembered pain.

"No, Father. I could have forgiven that. Though you don't admit it, you are a god. It was your due to ask this of your followers. No, it was what I learned later that turned me from you, a god unworthy of worship!"

At the end of his tirade Lorgar's voice became stressed, and his face a mask of agony so deep that the Emperor hoped, for a second, that his son still retained enough humanity that he could pull him back. But what came out next killed such thoughts even before they fully formed. "Magnus told me, in private. Leman confirmed, as did Serenity. What kind of Father has to be talked down from destroying a planet to chastise his child? And only for the crime of loving you?"

"Lorgar…"

"Do not pity me!" Lorgar shouted. "You lost all right to that! I am beyond your pity, beyond your constraints! Through my action I have toppled your great works! Though the power of faith you so despised, I have brought your empire low! Behold! The prodigal son returns!"

Lorgar spread his arms wide, and the air shimmered with different colors. Vague shapes could be made out of the kaleidoscope of red and green and purple and blue. A normal man's eye would have been unable to make out anything but the faintest shimmers before being struck blind. But the Emperor was no normal man. He saw clearly what floated inside and around his son, and in his heart he despaired.

"They're here, through you," he whispered.

"The gods live in me!" Lorgar shouted triumphantly. "And I am the embodiment of their will!"

Through the shimmering the voices came, four in number yet infinite in scope.

_eVEry_ _**ONE**_ _of_ **us**

**_DENIES YOU!_**

"Lorgar!" Rogal shouted, stepping over the corpse of his foe. "You'll pay for this! You'll pay for everything!" He charged forward, throwing a spear from a fallen Custodian at the man he once called brother. With a sneer Lorgar waved his hand, the projectile ceasing its flight and turning back toward Rogal. Twisting, the blade of the spear scraping across his armor, Rogal continued his rush, getting within feet of his brother before a wall of force slowed him to a crawl.

"My battle is not with you," was all he said before he struck, his fist taking Rogal square in the face and sending him flying back into the teeming mob that battled even now. He screamed out his brother's name, gnashing his teeth in barely controlled rage at his casual dismissal before his enemies came upon him once more.

The Emperor strode forward, golden light surrounding him and pushing against the varied colors swirling around Lorgar. He raised one power clawed hand, and from it a massive wave of lightening shot forth. Lorgar dug in his heels and pushed out, stopping the attack completely. As it sizzled out, he had but a moment to raise his crozius up to block the flaming sword that suddenly appeared in his Father's hands. Slashes and thrusts delivered with expert precision flurried about him, surrounding him like a storm of blades, and all through it the Emperor's light pushed against the might of his gods.

An overhand strike nearly took him in the shoulder, barely blocked by the symbol of his worship. Roaring, Lorgar pushed back, his otherworldly muscles further strengthened by the presence of his patrons. Eyes widening, the Emperor found himself pushed back, and it was in that moment Lorgar struck. His clawed, daemonic fist smashed against his Father's cheek, snapping his head back. Blood poured from his mouth, dribbling from his lips. He had no time to wipe it clear, for now the Emperor was on the defensive, blocking a flurry of strikes from his son, barely avoiding that tainted maul dripping with dark power.

"Enough!" the Emperor bellowed, his eyes flashing. A wave of force pushed Lorgar back, only his own dark powers keeping him on his feet as the metal crumpled like tinfoil around him. The Emperor slashed forward, a wave of power hurtling toward his son. Lorgar thrust his crozius forward, shrieking as the golden light shattered it utterly. Sizzling blood fell to the ground as the metal pierced his flesh, but it was humor, not anger, that adorned the Primarch's face. Before the shattered pieces of the crozius even touched the ground Lorgar gathered them with his power, throwing them at his Father.

The Emperor reacted in an instant. But here, in this place, an instant was infinitely slower than what could have been. He pushed through taint and corruption to perform even the smallest of his abilities, and these were slowed to such degrees he normally would have found laughable.

An instant was not nearly fast enough.

The force of his will stopped most of it, destroying their disgusting existence before they came close, but he was not fast enough for them all. Red hot metal, steeped in the foul powers of the denizens of the warp, pierced through his armor and deep into his flesh. He held back a scream as his blood flowed, the dark metal resisting his attempts to knit his flesh back together.

"Feel it, Father! Feel the power of the gods! The power you could have stood by as an equal! The power you denied!"

Moving faster than thought, the Emperor rushed forward, grabbing his son by his horned head and slamming him into the floor of the ship. The metal trembled, rippling out in waves like water under the force of the strike. The combatants all around them stumbled as their footing betrayed them, only the most skilled of them managing to keep their feet. He raised his sword up high, bringing it down upon his son's back. The glowing blade moved as if through water, but it steadily moved none-the-less. It cut deep into Lorgar's side, drawing a wellspring of sizzling blood that lit into flame in the open air.

The Primarch screamed in fury and twisted, smashing his elbow into his Father's nose, flattening it against his face. The Emperor stumbled back, wincing as the movement dug the tainted metal deeper into his wounds.

When Lorgar rose, his face was a mask of fury so pure he resembled more beast than man. With a wordless howl he pointed to his Father's sword. The blade erupted in the Emperor's hand, and the force of it destroyed his gauntlet utterly, leaving his hand a charred ruin healing ever so slowly in the Chaos laden atmosphere of the ship.

"You tried to cut them from me!" Lorgar screeched, clutching his side. "You tried to take my gods from me!"

"I was trying to save you," the Emperor said in a voice mixed with both physical and emotional pain.

Lorgar screamed at the top of his lungs, power flying wildly around him. Lightening arched and fire bloomed. The wind rose like a hurricane of cold, biting knives. Waves of pure power, colors shifting by the moment, rocked the ship. Daemons and marines fighting near them were consumed utterly, their forms lasting but a moment before falling to dust. The daemonic Primarch thrust one clawed hand, all his power channeled toward the air in front of it. A ball, mixing all four colors in such quantities that it appeared almost pitch black, formed in his hand. It radiated power and menace, steeped in malevolence and almost sentient in its purpose to destroy. The Emperor's eyes widened as the thing grew in size.

_'That's too much power! He's going to destroy the ship! No, he's going to destroy everything in orbit!'_

"Lorgar, stop!" he roared over the gale force winds, but his son was beyond all words now. His face glowing with fury and eldritch red light, he pushed the crackling sphere forward. The Emperor responded with his own outstretched hand, sending forth waves of his will to counter the overwhelmingly dense quantities of psychic power barely constrained by his son's murderous fury.

Golden light covered the dark globe, now thrice as large as a man's head. It wobbled back and forth as they struggled against the will of the other, sending off arches of power as it did so. Jagged lines of light and force cut into both of them, slicing through armor like paper and blowing holes in the flesh beneath. Blood flowed from the two combatants like small rivers, pooling at their feet and staining the floor.

The Emperor realized then, holding back the monstrous energies his son had unleashed, that he was not only battling Lorgar. The four would be gods of Chaos were channeling their might, their will, through his son. He did battle not against a Primarch alone, but against all four of his most ancient foes at once. And in this place, stifled as he was, he was not sure he could win the day.

"LORGAR!" a voice cried from behind the corrupted Primarch, revealing itself to be none other than Rogal Dorn as he felled a Word Bearer in a single blow. Bloodied, his armor in shambles, he pushed forward, power fist crackling as he slammed it into Lorgar's wounded side, taking his brother off his feet and sending him to his knees. The Emperor seized upon his son's broken concentration; putting everything he had into one last push. With a tremble, as if still fighting to hold its form, the sphere winked out of existence with a boom like thunder.

{oOo}

Alta moved serenely through the battlefield, her staff moving from side to side as she waded through the enemy. They moved so slowly to her, almost as if they had ceased moving entirely. That wasn't the case, of course. They still moved, but it was at such meager speeds that they might as well have been frozen. Where her staff hit, bodies crumbled and withered, metal disintegrating as easily as flesh. Her face was a mask of concentration and determination, and none were spared when her gaze fell upon them.

She looked up to the face of another Titan and raised her weapon high, the Garnet Orb glowing as a bolt of power tore through its face. With a flash of light and the crackle of displaced air she teleported back to the wall, and time returned to its normal flow. Men screamed down below as they found their limbs wasted beyond all strength, unable to hold themselves up, never mind hold on to their weapons. They screamed louder as the corpse of the Titan fell upon them.

"That should be enough to send this latest wave back, Captain." Alta said softly as she appeared by Jared's side. "If you and your men could fire into them as they flee, we might be able to buy ourselves a few hours before they try this again."

"Yes Ma'am," Jared said with a salute, motioning his men to concentrate their fire on the stragglers and the larger creatures fleeing the fight. "I can't thank you enough for your help, Lady Alta. I don't want to think of what would have happened if you hadn't intervened."

"You would have done your duty," Alta said simply. "Of that I have no doubt."

She looked as if she were about to say more, but instead looked to the sky, her expression both puzzled and concerned. Jared waited for a moment, unsure of what to say, before finally breaking the tension with words. "My Lady, is everything all right?"

"No," she whispered. "No, I don't think it is."

{oOo}

"It's over, my son," the Emperor whispered as he limped over to where Rogal was holding Lorgar down. Exhaustion and pain marked all three of them, and none moved without wincing, but on Lorgar the weariness ran deeper. He had put everything in to that last assault, and now he had nothing left.

"Nothing is over!" Lorgar hissed, struggling futilely against Rogal's iron grip. "The will of the gods cannot be stopped!"

"They are not gods, Lorgar" he said wearily. "They never were."

"Don't bother, Father," Rogal said as he twisted his brother's arm. "He's not worth it. Better to put him down now."

"It may come to that. But for now we will take him with us. We'll work out what to do from-"

Whatever the Emperor had been going to say was cut off as a blood red blade erupted through his chest, sending out waves of lifeblood over Rogal and Lorgar's faces. Rogal yelled in alarm, letting his brother go as he rushed to his Father's side. As the Emperor fell, the blade pulled free, moving in an instant to slice through Rogal's battered chest plate. It cut only a shallow line in his flesh, barely breaking the skin at all, but it hurt more than any wound he had ever suffered before. The shock of it sent him flat on his face, gasping for air in between bouts of agony. It took almost everything left in him to turn his head up, looking upon his attacker.

"Al… Alpharius?"

"Indeed."

The Primarch looked upon the sword he had used to wound both his brother and his Father, marveling at its blood red blade and leering skull hilt. In moments the thing crumbled to ash, and Alpharius laughed as Lorgar rose to his feet, struggling to remain conscious.

"You were right, brother. Not even their greatest servants forged into the mightiest sword could last long after piercing Father. Still, it got the job done."

"Why?" Rogal gasped, earning a glimpse of contempt from the shorter Primarch.

"You honestly have to ask? You mean you really didn't notice? Didn't notice how I clenched my hands every time Guilliman humiliated me in public? How I gritted my teeth every time Horus praised Serenity whenever we were together?"

He knelt down and grabbed Rogal by his hair, bringing him to eye level. "How nothing I did was ever good enough for you all, even though my tactics worked? Even though world's complied with hardly any bloodshed thanks to my Legion's skill? How I tried so hard to be recognized? Well guess what, brother. I think I've finally gotten all eyes on me."

"Enough," Lorgar rasped. "We cannot waste time."

Alpharius sighed and let his brother go. "You're right, of course. But before we leave let's at least finish off Rogal. One less thing to worry about."

There was a crackle of displaced air, and within the still battling groups came Alta and hundreds of Imperial Fists. The yellow armored marines rushed to bolster their comrades still fighting desperately against their foes. Alta's normally calm face was a mask of fury, and the corrupted air seemed to recoil from her rage.

"Stay away from them!"

Alpharius grinned mockingly and opened his mouth to respond, but no words came as Alta smashed her staff directly into the Primarch's face, sending him flying into Lorgar. He scrambled to his feet, furious and bleeding, but Lorgar put a hand on his shoulder as he pulled himself up.

"We're done here," he whispered. "Our duty is complete."

Alpharius looked like he was about to argue, but the expression on Lorgar's face brooked no defiance. He let his words die and turned back to Alta as she rushed to the Emperor and Rogal's side.

"Tell Guilliman something for me when he comes. Tell him 'I was right.'"

And in a flash of eldritch light, they were gone.

The Senshi gave them a moment's glance before putting her full attention to the Fallen Emperor and his son. The Emperor was wounded and unconscious, and the cuts ran deep. Healing was not her skill, but she attempted to do so anyway. Almost immediately she was wracked with pain, and she recoiled from his wounds.

"These injuries are tainted. He's dying."

"Then we have to move him from this place."

Alta blinked in surprise. Rogal had gotten to his feet. He leaned down and picked up his Father, trying to be as gentle as possible. "You shouldn't be moving!" Alta hissed. "You're almost as bad off as he is!"

"Hardly. I cannot be still while Father is dying," he responded. He turned to his men and the Custodians, still deep in battle. "To me, men of the Imperium! We are done here!"

Swiftly, though it seemed agonizingly slow to the Primarch and the Senshi, the Imperial Fists and the Custodians made their way back to them. When the last reached them, Alta raised her staff high. With a crackle of energy and a boom of rushing air, they disappeared, leaving the horde to howl as their prey escaped their clutches.

{oOo}

Footsteps raced down the hallways of the Imperial Palace, one light and the other incredibly heavy. Alta had brought them as close as she could to the heavily warded throne room, but that still left a distance to run. Alta winced as Rogal kept up with her, his wounds sending drops of blood onto the floor. The man took it stoically, only the tightness in his eyes and the shortness of his breath betraying the monumental pain he was suffering.

After twelve grueling minutes they made their way into the throne room. Malcador sat on the throne, his expression grim and drawn, as it always was when he had to sit on that exalted seat. His eyes widened in alarm as Rogal and Alta carried the Emperor's prone form through the mighty doors that blocked off the room.

"What happened?"

"There's no time! We have to get him onto the Throne!"

Malcador nodded and stood up, motioning for the Mechanicus Adepts to aid them. Rogal sat his Father down gently onto the Golden Throne as the tech masters worked their art, fighting to keep the Emperor alive. Rogal and Alta stood to the side. One Adept walked over to them, her blue robes marking her as a Mercurian.

"My Lord Dorn, please let us look to your wounds."

Rogal shook his head. "Do not waste time on me. Save my Father. That's all I ask."

She winced at his tone and looked to Alta, who merely gazed upon the proceedings with a calm demeanor betrayed only by the tightness in which she gripped her staff. Mumbling under her breath about stubborn fools not knowing when to admit they were hurt.

Machines were brought in and tubes connected, and more than once the tech adepts argued with each other over what had to be done. Each time they did Rogal raised his voice and Alta slammed the butt of her staff upon the ground, moving them to work once more. Finally, hours later, the same Adept walked over again, visibly shaken and drained from her efforts.

"It is done. The Emperor is stable."

"Good," Rogal whispered, his eyes finally drooping under the weight of exhaustion and pain. "That's good."

He crashed to the floor, unconscious and unmoving. The Mercurian shrieked for the other adepts to come over and help her, fussing over the Primarch as his wounds reopened from his fall.

And through it all Alta stood, giving silent vigil to their work. As she did, she felt the tides of fate shift and turn, and with grim foreboding she knew nothing would ever be the same again.

{oOo}


	13. To Laugh or To Weep

_To Laugh or To Weep_

{oOo}

The sun felt wonderful on her skin, the planet's temperate weather allowing her to luxuriate on the blanket spread out across the fertile hillside without any sort of protection. There were a few scant trees on the gentle slops, though for the most part bushes made up the foliage. It overlooked a bustling city, making a neat contrast between industry and nature. She found peace in that dichotomy.

The breeze moved slowly, bringing a slight chill that made her snuggle further in the broad lap she rested her head upon. She looked up and smiled, taking in the giant man carefully reading a leather-bound book in his huge hands. The thing looked comically small, but he treated it so gently.

He could be so incredibly gentle.

He noticed her gaze and drew his attention away from his studies, smiling down at her with his one eye. Long locks of red hair framed his handsome face, and with one hand he stroked her hair. Her smile widened and she closed her eyes.

"Magnus…"

"So…" came a voice tinged with irreverence and laced with laughter. "This is what you dream of? How very interesting."

The world shook and the sky darkened. Ira sat up quickly even as her dream faded around her, leaving only a featureless black void that stretched endlessly in all directions. From the side, piercing through the nothingness of the blank dreamscape came a tall, skinny figure in loose clothing of bright colors. His eyebrows were bushy, and his nose was almost unnaturally long. He slicked back his short mop of black hair and grinned at her, his teeth shining an impossible white. The smile reminded Ira of a performer back on Propsero when she was younger. The man had the air of an actor, or perhaps a con man.

"I guess that makes sense. After all, you haven't seen your husband in, what? Two years? All those lonely nights traipsing across the galaxy with no one to hold on to. Why, you must be positively beside yourself with-"

"Who are you?" she interrupted. "Why have you broken through my dreams?"

"Lucid dreaming too? My oh my, but you Senshi have such neat tricks!" He clapped his hands and paced around her. "Well, I guess I should have expected it. You lot really have changed some things since you showed up."

"Answer my question," Ira cut in again, this time raising a hand shimmering with heat. The void rippled with her growing ire at this creature's antics, and he raised his hands quickly to placate her.

"No need for that, I assure you. I'm just here to talk. As for my name, call me Cegorach."

Ira quirked an eyebrow and lowered her hand, though the void did not cease its shimmering. "Cegorach? From Eldar mythology?"

"Mythology? I'm hurt!"

He clasped a hand to his chest and leaned back, his other hand touching his brow in mock agony. He peeked open one eye and smiled at her, his teeth actually sparkling this time. "I'm very real, I can assure you. And you don't need to worry. You have nothing to fear from me. This isn't really my body anyway, more of a projection than anything of real substance. You Senshi have such remarkable defenses. Why, it took me years just to find you through the eyes of mortal kind. Simply pulling this meeting off was a tricky piece of work, let me tell you."

"You really like to talk, don't you?" the Senshi cut in before Cegorach could pick up speed. The creature blinked and grinned, bowing in acquiescence of the point. "That isn't how you really look. I wouldn't think an Eldar deity would look human."

"It's more for your comfort than anything else. You Imperials have such a sordid history with species not your own."

"Then why are we having this conversation? What purpose brings you here, Laughing God?"

Cegorach's smile faded, and his jovial expression turned grim. He walked over to her, stopping only a few feet away. Now that he was standing closer, Ira could hear a constant giggling around him, like the air itself was laughing. But underneath that she noticed something else, so faint that she almost doubted she heard it at all.

It sounded like weeping.

"You know of the recent talks between your Imperium and the Eldar?"

She nodded. "Meetings have been arranged for the past few years now, though there hasn't been much headway. Not every Craftworld is behind this sudden push for peace."

"Yes," Cegorach whispered. "Our children can be as fractious and broken as we once were, so long ago."

"What? What are you saying?" She narrowed her eyes. "Enough of this, tell me what you're doing here or get out. I'll not play games with you."

The Laughing God motioned with his hand to the void around them. "If you'll allow me a small courtesy?"

Ira nodded, and the dreamscape shifted around them, twirling as a new hand painted upon the blank canvas for a new purpose. Soon enough figures and buildings formed, and a new sky shone overhead. But this was not the same place as had been before. As she looked upon it, Ira was faintly sure this must have been what Hell looked like.

_Everyone was dying; clutching their skulls as the hideous, nauseating laughter shattered their minds and ate their souls. It was filled with a never-ending hunger, saturated with a madness so complete that the universe tore apart at the force of it. The sky was on fire, rippling in a thousand different colors that defied description and hurt the eye. The earth swelled and buckled on thousands of worlds, the planets recoiling at the tempest as sound and fury and lightning lashed at everything and everyone._

_Why was this happening? What was this horrible sound that tore at their sanity and shredded their souls? Their works were cast down, breaking into useless rubble as their children died screaming! They cried to the Heavens for deliverance, begging and screeching for salvation as their lifeless husks fell to the ground in the countless millions. Where were the gods? Where were the divine ones in this hour of greatest need? Why had they abandoned them to this fate?_

_And they looked to the sky and despaired, for in the hurricane of color and noise they saw the Golden Phoenix Lord, mighty Asuryan himself, cast from his celestial throne by a horrific monster both beautiful and monstrous. The abomination clutched the god's smoking heart in his hand, and with a serpentine tongue devoured it with teeth sharper than any mortal blade. Khaela Mensha Khaine cried out in fury over his brother's death, charging with his fiery sword against the god killer._

_There they fought and danced, Khaine's fell blade cutting great rifts in his foe. When he struck his adversary, chunks of its flesh broke and vanished. He was magnificent in his fury, a force of nature unleashed upon this foul destroyer. A tide of martial might focused on to one purpose, the death of his enemy. He slashed and stabbed, forcing the monster back under the power of his rage. And in their hearts they held the faintest glimmer of hope that the bloody handed god would deliver them from their doom._

_It was hope misplaced, for every time Khaine cut his opponent the creature cackled ever more deeply. With one clawed, impossibly beautiful hand it struck the war god, forcing him to his knees. He tried to rise, barely getting his sword between him and his enemy. Under the force of the next strike the sword cracked, and with the next blow shattered utterly. Khaine recoiled, and in that instant his enemy threw him to the ground, smiling cruelly as it played with its defeated prey._

_And the Eldar wept and cried, lamenting in their doom. Why were they dying? Why hope did they have if even the gods fell? My baby is dead! My son won't open his eyes! Please, Erith'el, wake up! No, please don't die! Please!_ _IT'SBURNING!MAKEITSTOP!MAKETHEPAINSTOP!ENDIT!PLEASEENDIT!WHYDOESIITHURTSOMUCH!WHYISITSOCOLD!WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY!_

Ira gasped as the vision ceased, abruptly returned to the shapeless void of undreaming sleep. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she tried to get her bearings. So much death, so much pain. All of them, screaming for help that never came, screeching in her mind as they died and were consumed utterly by a power vast and cruel and never satisfied.

"What…" She gulped, trying to focus her thoughts. "What was that?"

"The youngest of us," came Cegorach from behind her, and she twirled to keep him in sight. "Killing my family and devouring our people. It is our curse, our punishment."

"Why?" she asked, echoing the question of those long since dead and gone.

"Because we were arrogant," he said softly. "Because we were complacent. Because we were foolish. It is because of all these things that our fall came to pass. I wanted you to see it so you would know where I'm coming from, and that you would see that I also know what it is like for a family to turn upon itself."

"Why show me this? Why not the Princess?"

"Oh, believe me, you're not the only one getting a visit. As for your Princess, I can't get anywhere near her. It's hard enough for me to even speak with you. I have no chance at all with her unless she wills it."

"And what purpose does this serve? Please, no more games and visions. Why are you here?"

"To beg for your help," Cegorach said simply. "To ask that you not turn aside those seeking your aid because a few are too blind to accept they die a slow death otherwise."

"And you're really all right with this?" she said, her composure back completely. She studied him intently, looking for any trace of falsehood behind his words and body language. "You're putting your trust in a foreign power your people have battled with before."

"I am. I have spoken with Khaine, or rather parts of him. He is mostly in agreement. I have spoken with Isha, though the risk of doing so was great. She wishes anything that might help her children survive."

Cegorach smiled at her, a small thing tinged with sadness, as he faded away. The giggles and laughter increased in volume as he left, but over this his voice was heard as he spoke one last time.

"The choice I leave to you and yours, Senshi of Fire. It is your decision whether to shelter my people with your flames or burn their remnants to ashes."

The laughing rose to a crescendo as he faded completely. A clear laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh that denied the cruel turns of fate. But she could hear the strain behind it, the force he put through to keep it going. And again under it all, almost unnoticeable behind the noise, there was the quiet sound of a soul crying for everything it had lost.

{oOo}


	14. Whispers From the Tomb

{oOo}

**_WHISPERS FROM THE TOMB_**

{oOo}

He breathed evenly, fast asleep in his cramped little corner of a supply room. Though even, his breathing was not relaxed. Nothing of him was relaxed or in the usual peace of sleep. One hand lay inside his ragged blue robes, dirty and torn from days of running and sweating. The other, an augmetic one made to resemble the human form, was at his side. In its grip was a heavily modified auspex, attached to the mechanical limb by a number of wires.

A blip appeared on the machine, at the very edge of the screen. The machine gave off no sound, but it sent a steady vibration into the prosthetic arm. The man woke with a start, his eyes flashing everywhere. His long black hair got in the way, and for one single, agonizing moment he gave in to an uncontrollable animal panic before he could move it out of his eyes and look at the device. The faint illumination shined in his brown eyes as he noted the slow moving blip. He pulled a chronometer from his robe and restrained a sob.

"Three hours!" he whispered manically, one eye on the timepiece and the other on his surroundings. He couldn't see much further than the faint glow from his auspex, but he knew the room was a small one, full of food and water. It had been why he'd holed up there in the first place. "I slept for three hours! Too long. Much too long. Was only supposed to be for one. Can't afford any more."

He looked back to the screen, all his attention on the blip and the numbers next to it. He mouthed the distance between the blip and his current position.

"Has it found me? I've been so careful. But the others were careful too. We were all careful… No, stop that! Just exhaustion talking. Have to keep moving. Can't stay still. It'll get me if I stay still."

He let out a small giggle, halfway between euphoria and despair, before clapping a hand over his mouth. He eyed the room again before looking back to the auspex. The blip had only moved a little further, but not toward his hiding place. "First time it's moved from the west side in days. Take the chance? So risky, could be trying to trick me. Can't take risks. Have to play it safe. Others took risks. They're all dead. They're all dead!"

He snapped his teeth shut. He'd almost shouted that last bit. Careless. Stupid. He couldn't afford to be so stupid!

He took another look at the screen before making his decision. He couldn't stay there; staying too long in one spot was too dangerous. But he didn't know how much longer he could keep moving. As it was, even with his augmented body he couldn't keep up his breakneck pace. And when he fell he was a dead man. There weren't any other options left.

He hauled himself up, always keeping one eye on the auspex. His legs gave faint, almost inaudible, whirring noises as he moved, revealing them to be as augmetic as his arm. He made his way to the door slowly as he fiddled with the device, bringing the screen's glow down to the absolute minimum. Finally, he reached the door. His hand hovered over the control panel, as it had so many times before. His stomach felt like ice, his limbs as if they were moving through water. He just couldn't get used to it, this stark terror before going back out there.

He took a deep breath before punching in the activation runes, and then he ran for his life.

The lights in the corridor were a dim red, indicating the emergency power had come on. He'd been living with it for weeks, the facility's well-hidden geothermal generator feeding in just enough power to keep everything operational. By this point he couldn't remember a time when the world wasn't covered in that horrible color. The color of blood flowing so freely from bodies ripped open, gasping as their lives congealed on the once sterile floor.

He slapped himself, keeping his thoughts organized. He had to move, had to be swift! And always, always, he kept one eye on the auspex. Doing so had saved his life more often than he could remember during these horrific times. The blip was still moving away, steadily but with agonizing slowness. He turned a corner, heading west. If he could just make it there he could call for help. The Guard would come for him. Even the Astartes would come! They would purge this place and he would be free. He would finally be free!

The trip seemed like it took hours, though he had been running only for a few minutes. He took his attention off the tiny screen in front of him to glance at the walls. They were grey metal, nothing more. This place had been built for function, not form, and he couldn't see anything obviously wrong with them. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked back to his machine, even more relieved that the tiny dot had moved further away from his destination.

Finally, after so much running, he reached the door to the communications array. Hands shaking, the Adept punched in the code to open the door, almost crying in relief when it opened. Pulling himself back together, he ran for the console and began what he'd wanted to do for so many weeks in this blighted hell.

"Have to call for help. Yes, call for help. Can't report to Terra, too far away. Would need an Astropath. But Halafax? Yes, close enough for mundane communication. They can send word out, and then I can leave. I can leave!"

He giggled again, this time not bothering to restrain himself. The communications array lit up as he activated it, and he felt hope bloom in his heart. He'd almost forgotten what that felt like, so long trapped in this horrible place that had become his home.

Hope died when the machine sparked and smoked before shutting down completely.

"No," he shrieked. "No! No no no no no! You can't do this! You can't! It's not fair!"

With a barely restrained screech of anger and despair the Adept ripped open the casing beneath the control panel, looking deep into the guts of the machine. All the wires were cut. Almost nothing within the entrails of the communications array was in its proper place. Everything was either removed or broken, done carefully so as not to disturb the face of the device. To fix this, even if he could find the right tools, would take hours. He didn't have hours. He probably didn't even have minutes.

"It's not fair," he said again at a whisper. "It's not fair."

And then he laughed, a full body laugh that shook him from head to toe. He laughed loudly, uncaring how it echoed down the halls behind him. He laughed at the injustice of it all. He laughed at the uncaring universe, bringing him so close to hope and then snatching it away. And as he laughed he cried, for he knew that his desperate running, his terrified hiding, was now at an end. He dropped the auspex, the wires connecting it to his arm snapping free with hardly any resistance. From his robes he pulled a pict recorder. It wasn't his, he'd lost his original one ages ago. But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

He turned it on, the little green light telling him it was recording.

"This… this will be my last record," he said with careful consideration. He was so tired. It was so hard to think. The adrenaline of his frantic run was gone now, leaving him with nothing left. He felt feverish, bone weary. "I just want whoever finds this to know we meant it for the best. We meant everything for the best. We wanted to make the Imperium safer. We thought we had found the ultimate tool for that purpose. We thought we had found a weapon like no other. And we were right, may the Emperor and Princess forgive me, we were right. But it wasn't what we hoped for, what we wanted. And now I fear we've doomed the entire human race."

He could feel it now behind him, could hear the relentless steps of his pursuer, his constant companion in this hell he'd been trapped in all those weeks ago. He set the pict recorder on the control board of the ruined communications array.

"We meant it for the best," he sobbed. "We meant it for the best."

The steps stopped right behind him, and the Adept could hear the drops hitting the floor. Someone else had been alive, been taken. But he was the last one. He knew that as surely as he knew his own culpability in this horror. From the dimness behind him came a sickly green light, growing brighter and brighter with each passing second. Soon it filled everything, filled his entire world. He closed his eyes, but the light burned its way through the thin flesh. Nothing existed but that horrible, deathly glow. And he screamed.

{oOo}

Reality tore open in a harsh, multicolor swirl as the Warp briefly encroached upon the physical realm and deposited a small frigate before the Materium reasserted its dominance. Heavily armed and armored, it was obvious this was no mere civilian vessel. The sub light engines of The Silver Lance flared to life, bringing the small ship closer into foreboding grey rock floating silently through the void.

Soon after settling into orbit, a shuttle broke away from the larger ship and shot toward the surface. It was unadorned, painted in a functional olive green, save for the golden aquila set on its side. The Imperial Guard had arrived.

Inside, men were strapped into their chairs as the ship buckled against the thin atmosphere of the planet below. At the front was a well built, stern faced man who looked even more so because of the scar across his nose. He tapped his helmet, sending a signal to everyone else in the room.

"Vox check. Everybody sound off."

A chorus of "Sir, yes sir!" erupted from more than thirty throats, coming clearly through the comm channel over the noise of atmospheric entry, and he smiled. He closed his green eyes briefly, basking in the well-oiled discipline of his platoon before continuing.

"You all should have read the mission briefing on the trip over here," he said wryly. "But I'll say it again just in case you lot had something better to do than stick to protocol." There was a little snickering over that, quickly hushed up by the rest of the men. "There's a research facility on this Emperor forsaken ball of rock belonging to the Blue Robes and the Cogboys. Nobody's heard anything from them in almost a month, so it's our job to secure the site before the guys with brains come down to figure out what the hell happened. If there are hostiles on site, we are to neutralize them by any means necessary. Now, in case I've been using too many big words for you ladies, that means you shoot it till it stops moving."

More than one of the men broke out laughing. One, a squat man with short black hair, chimed in. "You don't need to tell us how to do that, lieutenant. We've gotten pretty good at it."

"Sometimes I'm not so sure, Torver," the lieutenant shot back, but there wasn't any heat in his voice. "Private Halx, details on the mission area."

"Yes sir, Lieutenant Kraxman." The thin, almost scrawny but for lanky muscle revealed by his rolled up shirtsleeves, man pulled out a data slate from within his crash webbing and began to read off it. "Atmosphere is barely tolerable for human survival. There's no surface water to be found anywhere outside the polar caps, but the facility has access to an aquifer. The complex itself is seventy five thousand square meters, powered geothermally."

"Do we have any idea what was being done here?"

"That's need to know, Larcus," Kraxman responded. "As in we don't. Just have your weapon ready when we touch down."

_Though,_ Kraxman thought bitterly. _It's not as if the Colonel knew either. We just get sent in to deal with the mess._ He turned his head to the side and frowned. _And, of course, there's this._

Eyes closed, to all appearances sleeping peacefully, was a tall woman with waist long blonde hair. She was dressed conservatively, wearing a no nonsense military outfit that Kraxman had to admit fit her. She had the air of a soldier, though at first glance she didn't look it. He noticed the rest of the men glancing at her from time to time, but he couldn't fault them. After all, how often was it you had royalty accompany you on a mission?

She opened her eyes and looked at him, giving him a small smile. Kraxman jumped in his seat and turned his head away to hide his flush. He nearly jumped again when he heard the Senshi speak clearly without using the vox system.

"I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable, Lieutenant."

"No need to apologize, Ma'am," Kraxman said immediately. Somehow she could hear him even over the shuttle engines, which both surprised him and didn't at the same time. She was a Senshi. For all he knew this was just the most mundane of what she could do. "Just not used to having someone of your status on a mission. I'll adapt."

"I understand. Normally I'd say you don't need to be so formal, but that wouldn't be good for discipline. I've probably been bad enough for that just attaching myself to your team so abruptly."

"Speaking of that," Kraxman eased in, glad to finally have a chance to broach the subject. "Why did you attach yourself when we were in transit from Halafax? I'm sure you've got better things to do than pounding dirt with the Guard."

"You don't give yourself and the Guard enough credit then," Azmina interrupted, the barest hint of sharpness entering her voice. She shifted in her seat, making Kraxman uncomfortably aware of how well she fit into her uniform. "We acknowledge the Guard, Lieutenant. We acknowledge you. The entire family knows and appreciates the sacrifices the Guard makes on behalf of the Imperium."

Kraxman had to fight down the urge to flush again. _Hell, I'm acting like some Juvie who's just met a pretty girl for the first time!_ Her almond shaped eyes seemed to be concentrated completely on him. "Ah, I'm sorry, Ma'am. That wasn't what I intended. I'm just curious as to why you're here, after all. This whole operation's a little rushed."

"Well, you know how the Mercurians and the Adeptus Mechanicus don't get along most of the time. This is one of the few research posts that actually has them working together. Tekhne knew I was near by and sent me a message asking I help look in to the matter." Her expression softened to something significantly less regal and much more civilian like. "And to be honest, I was tired of doing the diplomacy thing. Rogal would say I'm being irresponsible, but I've wanted to get back in a military operation for a while."

"I can understand wanting to get your hands dirty every now and then, Ma'am. But I'm not sure how to settle who's in charge. You're the highest ranking person in the whole subsector."

"It's your op, Lieutenant," she said calmly. "Unless something extraordinary happens, I'll mostly just be standing aside and letting you do your jobs."

Kraxman nodded. "I appreciate that, Ma'am. Thank you for your support."

She leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. A glimmer of amusement filled her intense, blue eyes. "Of course, Lieutenant."

The shuttle jerked a bit as it halted its flight, hovering near the facility's hangar.

_"Inputting access codes,"_ the pilot said over the vox. _"We're in luck. Seems there's still enough power to keep things running."_

A few minutes later the shuttle touched down and the doors closed, allowing the atmosphere to reach a more comfortable level. As soon as the light on the hatch turned green, Kraxman got to his feet.

"Okay people, move out! I want heavy weapons teams around the shuttle immediately. Everyone else scout the hangar area. Teams of five."

"Sir!"

And just like that, within five minutes everyone was out of the shuttle and doing their jobs. Kraxman stood back with Azmina, admiring the well-coordinated efforts of the platoon. Torver was getting his heavy weapons crews down and around the ship; autocannons on pintle mounts covering all sides.

"Expecting a need for a quick get-a-way?" the Senshi asked with another smile. Kraxman noted she seemed to do that a lot.

"Never hurts to be careful, Ma'am. If we do need to leave in a hurry, it's best to have the shuttle protected by the heaviest stuff we got."

"A good strategy." She paused for a second, thinking about something. "You know, I met another Lieutenant Kraxman once. It was years ago on a planet called Graztex. He was part of the Guard effort against the Orks when a Chaos band came looking for Esin."

"Yes Ma'am," Kraxman responded, feeling both uncomfortable and proud at the same time. _Dammit, I'm not used to this kind of attention. Can't say it's all bad, though._ "That was my great grandfather, Fredrick Kraxman. Mom used to tell me stories about him."

"He was a good man. I'm glad to see his blood stayed strong."

_Is she… Is she flirting with me?_ It took everything he had to keep the thought from registering on his face. _No, can't be. I must be losing my mind._

"Thank you, Ma'am," he said as calmly as he was able, making sure nothing of his mad thoughts bled into his voice. "That means a lot to me."

The Senshi looked almost disappointed in the corner of Kraxman's eye, but he attributed that to his almost certain growing insanity. It was a relief when the rest of the platoon returned.

"Nothing in the hangar, sir. Just some busted up ships in bad need of repair."

"All right, here's what's going to happen," he barked, much more comfortable now that he was back in his element. "Sergeant Torver, you will remain here and take charge of the heavy weapons crews. I want this bird just as shiny as I left it when I come back."

Torver saluted with a grin. "Sir, yes sir. Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"Since it's already a banged up junker, how will you tell if it's got any new scars, sir?"

Kraxman waved him off with a grunt, but there wasn't any animosity behind it, and turned to the rest of his men. "Standard operating procedure, gentlemen. Teams of five. I want constant updates every ten minutes, and if you have to engage a hostile fall back and meet up with the rest of the platoon. I'm not gonna tolerate any stupid heroics. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good. Fan out. We meet back in the hangar in two hours."

They spread out once outside the hangar, all four teams going down different paths. Azmina tagged along with Kraxman's group as they made their way down the red-lit halls, the faint light enhanced by the luminators attached to their lasguns. The Senshi herself had a bolt pistol, ready to use and pointed ahead along with the rest of them. He could not help but notice that her body was dense, muscled, and ready for battle. He stopped looking at her before his thoughts became inappropriate, but he saw her grin in the corner of his eye. A grin that said she knew what he'd been thinking.

In any event, Kraxman made a note to not get in her line of sight if it came to a combat situation. Friendly fire was bad enough, but bolt pistols left especially nasty wounds.

They looked through a number of doors, most leading to either crew quarters or storage rooms. There wasn't anything of interest aside from a few shelves knocked over and some crates that had been pried open. But despite finding nothing Kraxman couldn't help but feel on edge. The air was stifling in this place, the ventilation working on minimal capacity in order to conserve power. It was muggy and hot, sweltering like the swamps he'd trudged through before on different planets. But while that was open air, which allowed some relief, this was in a confined space, which made it all the worse. He felt the sweat drip down his face.

And that was the least of it. As they continued on they found nothing broken. There weren't any signs of struggle anywhere. Everything seemed perfectly in place for an Imperial research laboratory. Except for the fact that there weren't any people.

The place was unnerving, stark passageways giving an oppressive atmosphere in the red-lit halls. After several minutes he was getting annoyed with the color. It made him start seeing shadows and things that weren't there, playing tricks on his mind. Weird shapes that crawled along the floors and walls as they passed, making gruesome daemonic faces and unnatural bodies. It didn't help that he was pushing his senses to the utmost for possible ambushes. It made everything in his peripheral vision seem even stranger as they trudged their way down the corridors.

The wall shuddered in the corner of his eye as is alive, rippling like a snake sloughing off its skin. He blinked and then held up his hand. The rest of the team stopped, looking in all directions for any sign of enemies.

"What the hell was that!" cried out another man on his team. It wasn't loud, and he kept his weapon up, but it was obvious from his expression he'd seen the exact same thing as Kraxman. The wall had moved somehow, undulating like some metallic beast settling itself. Kraxman repressed a shudder at _that_ mental image before pushing on. This place was disturbing enough without his imagination adding to it.

"Halx," he motioned the smaller man to the wall. "Take out your auspex and scan that wall."

The private didn't waste time asking questions, pulling out the scanning device and directing it toward the wall in question.

"Nothing unusual, sir. Standard steel alloy, cheap and easy to produce."

Kraxman grunted, not pleased at all with that assessment. Was he just seeing things? It wouldn't surprise him. Still…

"Ma'am, I hate to ask, but could I request a favor?"

Azmina raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Do you feel anything strange in the metal around us?"

The Senshi narrowed her eyes and seemed to stare momentarily into space. Kraxman wondered what was going through her mind. Did she think he was overstepping himself, or perhaps just plain crazy? He wouldn't blame her. He was starting to think the same thing. After a moment she raised her eyes to his and moved to the wall. She laid a hand on it and closed her eyes. There was a slight vibration where she touched, and after a few moments she pulled her hand away.

"It's steel, but there's something more…" she paused, brow furrowing in concentration. "I can't put my finger on it. Something foreign."

"I'm still not getting anything on the auspex."

"It's faint," she whispered. "Barely there at all. I'm afraid I can't be any clearer than that. It's familiar, but it's so faint I can't get enough of a feeling to spark a memory."

"But there's definitely something in the walls?" Kraxman asked, eying the hallways around them and gripping his lasgun tighter.

"Yes," she said softly.

That, of course, had everyone a little spooked. Not overly, they were too well trained, but it had Kraxman cursing for what it had done to morale. He tapped the vox in his helmet, barking out a harsh command to remind everyone of proper discipline and maybe get some answers.

"Sitrep. Anyone find anything?"

_"Larcus sounding in. Nothing so far. Hell, if it wasn't for the lack of people I'd swear there was nothing wrong here."_

_"Torver sounding in. Nothing creepy crawly has moved into the hangar. Pity, I was all for roasting something. Nothing like autocannons to grill up some big nasties."_

The other two teams, under Hollock and Janson, responded likewise, which did nothing to relieve the growing tension Kraxman was feeling. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. But by all accounts the facility was working fine, outside of running on minimal power. But where were the people? Hell, there weren't even any bodies! What had happened here?

Their footsteps created ominous echoes as they slinked along, and Kraxman found himself straining for any sign of noise, anything at all to give some sign of life to this place.

An intake of breath to his left almost had him jumping out of his skin, but rigid discipline ingrained through years of training and warfare kept any overreaction in check. He looked over to see Senshi Venus sweating slightly, her eyes grimacing as if in pain.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" he whispered, not wanting to add to the tension his men were already feeling.

"Yes, just a slight headache," she said with only a hint of strain in her voice. She pushed some of her fine, blonde hair from her face and looked at him straight on. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"No disrespect intended, Ma'am, but are you sure? So far nothing on this op makes any sense. I'd hate for you to be getting ill from it as well."

"Really, it's nothing," she said firmly. "I've felt worse wrestling with Rogal. So don't worry about me. There're bigger things to focus on."

Kraxman felt like he'd almost swallowed his tongue at how she casually mentioned wrestling with a Primarch, so he just nodded and kept his eyes focused ahead.

"Hey!" came Halx as he checked inside another door, moving his head quickly back to avoid possible fire from hidden assailants. "This looks like one of the actual laboratories. Might have clues as to what the hell happened here."

They advanced inside, covering everything carefully to ensure the dim illumination and the many contraptions did not conceal any adversaries. The first thing that Kraxman noticed was the smell, like the atmosphere after a lightning strike. The air took on a different texture as well, slightly greasy in a way that did not mix well with the overall staleness. The maddening red lights cast eerie shadows, giving the room a sinister, bloody appearance.

It looked like a laboratory out of the holopicts, with great cogitators taking up portions of the room and other devices on various workbenches strewn about. Granted, there weren't any machines sending off arcs of electricity or any other theatrics, but the table with the holding straps fit the stereotype well enough. There was also a vaguely gun like contraption held over it.

"What would they need chained to a table?"

"Who knows? The binds are intact, so nothing broke out of them. Halx, see if you can't find any logs on the cogitators."

"Yes sir."

Halx fiddled with the machines a bit, flipping switches as he went through the most obvious start up routines. After a few seconds he managed to get some screens working, after which he cursed and hit the cogitator with his fist.

"Problem?"

"Damn thing just keeps telling me it doesn't have enough power for 'primary functions.' I'm gonna have to mess around with everything until I find some recordings. Still, might be easier if we can get primary power back up."

Kraxman tapped his helmet. "Message to all teams. If anyone is near anything that looks like the primary power grid, see if you can't get it up and running. I'm getting tired of seeing things in a red tint."

"Thanks, sir. Now, I'll just look around a bit more."

Halx moved from cogitator to cogitator, fiddling with them gently and growing more and more frustrated as his attempts failed to bear fruit. Eventually, after several minutes, he gave a triumphant cry. But soon enough it faded into even more colorful obscenities than before.

"What's wrong?"

Halx turned around, his expression as if he'd eaten something sour. "Finally found some records, but it's locked behind a pass code. We won't be getting anything here."

Kraxman grunted. "Unfortunate, but not unexpected. We'll just have to move on and see if we can't find anything else."

He turned around to signal his men to move out, but before he could anything Azmina was moving toward the controls. He opened his mouth to ask, respectfully, what she was doing, but she cut him off before he could get any words out.

"I should be able to override the command passwords. Just give me a second."

Kraxman held back a whistle. "That's mighty convenient."

She gave him a smile before responding, her voice light for his ears alone. "I'm more than just a pretty face, you know?"

Kraxman came to the conclusion that he'd been spending too much time around Guardsmen if he was blushing this much in one day. He planned to rectify this the next time his platoon got leave.

Azmina typed a long stream of letters and numbers into the cogitator, after which the screen changed. A lengthy list of dates appeared, and Kraxman couldn't keep a little grin off his face.

_Finally. Something's going our way for once today._

She opened up a vid file near the end, which promptly took up the entire screen. An older man in blue robes appeared, his face obscuring the rest of the laboratory. Sounds of activity could be heard behind him, though. When he spoke, it was with the clinical precision of one who had done this deed many times before.

_"Date is 245120.M40. We have performed further testing on the miraculous subject discovered by our survey teams so many weeks ago, and the discoveries have been magnificent! The substance that composes its structure seems to heal itself from all deformations inflicted upon it. The time required seems to be dependent on the amount of damage incurred, though this does raise issues on why the subject has not healed the overwhelming damage already present when it was discovered. Further testing on this will be required before we have an accurate assessments of its exact limits."_

The man paused for a second, stroking his chin with one augmetic hand. He seemed deep in thought, looking for the proper phrasing of what he wanted to say. After a few seconds he gathered himself together and continued.

_"It has been suggested by some of my colleagues that we run a current through it in hopes of further reaction. Perhaps this might even activate the device? We'll have to ensure it is properly restrained. Still, it's suffered so much damage I can't see this as a likely possibility. However, I can't see any harm in the attempt after we've done some more testing. We'll just have to see."_

The screen winked out, bringing back the previous list of recordings. Kraxman had leaned in to get a better look when it was playing, consequently bringing himself closer to the Senshi. They looked at each other, which promptly reminded the lieutenant who she was now that his attention wasn't hyperfocused on the matter at hand. He backed away to a respectful distance and cleared his throat.

"So they were experimenting on something? Is that what everything in this room was for?"

"The other records seem to be about the same subject matter, yes," Azmina responded as she looked through the files. "Everything here is labeled under 'Project Infragilis.'"

"Leave it to the techies to make something sound more important with high gothic," Kraxman heard one of his men mutter, and he couldn't really disagree. It seemed both politicians and technicians simply loved to give their various projects grand sounding names in the mostly dead language.

_"Sir!"_ came a frantic call over the vox. _"Sir, this is Larcus reporting in from the main power generator. It's busted up bad, sir. We've got some freaky shit here!"_

"Calm down," Kraxman said immediately. "Tell me what's going on. Have you found any bodies?"

_"No sir, no bodies. But the walls are covered in all sorts of gibberish. A whole bunch of it looks like it was written in blood."_

Kraxman felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "Do you see any signs of a Chaos incursion?"

_"No sir. No Warp symbols or any blasphemies. It's all written in plain gothic. But none of it makes any damn sense."_

"What's it say?"

_"I can't make out most of it. It's like the guy wrote over what he'd already written. But there's one thing that's repeated over and over again on every damn wall."_

"What is it?"

_"'The metal lives.' Just over and over again. 'The metal lives.'"_

"What in the hell does that mean? Did everyone else get this?"

_"I got it, sir,"_ Torver said before everyone else. _"Gotta tell ya, this is mighty weird."_

_"Janson reporting in! Sir, there's blood everywhere in this apartment! Emperor on earth, some of it's on the warp damned ceiling!"_

_"Hollock here. Lieutenant, we've found a body stuffed in one of the storage containers. It's, aw hell!"_ There was a sound like someone dry hacking in the background, like the man was trying to hold back throwing up. _"She's missing her skin! Sir, this has got to be the aftermath of a Chaos raid! Nobody else does this shit!"_

The vox net exploded with activity, voices talking to each other so fast Kraxman could barely understand what they were saying. It had to be a Chaos Warband, one voice cried. They had to call for back up! But then where were the blasphemous symbols of the ruinous powers, came a response? Heretics didn't attack somewhere without leaving some kind of mark for their worship. Maybe it was the Orks? But Orks aren't nearly this clean, and they'd have looted the place! Hell, maybe it was those Dark Eldar bastards! They're certainly sick enough for it.

"Everybody, calm down!" Kraxman barked over the vox. Years of training and serving together had an immediate effect, and instantly the response imbued into them through years of combat took effect. The chatter died and discipline was restored. "Hollock, is there anything around the body? Are there any signs as to what did this?"

_"No sir, nothing but the corpse and a lot of… wait a minute. There's a pict recorder set down near the crate."_

"Can you patch it into the vox net? It might give us some clues. Everybody else, stay frosty. We've all been through worse."

_"Yes sir, just give me a minute,"_ Hollock responded, his voice a little less tense now that Kraxman had snapped everyone out of their rising panic. It was strange. They'd all gone through combat with many of the worst enemies of the Imperium, but this place was getting to him. It was getting to everyone. There was an ill-defined something about this place, this situation, that was putting everyone on edge.

"Did you hear that?" Azmina said suddenly, looking around for something. Kraxman raised an eyebrow.

"No Ma'am, I can't hear anything. What is it?"

She paused for a second, looking around the room. "No, no it's nothing. I could have just sworn I heard someone whispering."

_"Got it set up, Lieutenant,"_ Hollock voxed before Kraxman could ask the Senshi for more information. _"Obviously I can't do a video feed, but audio should come through fine. Playing now."_

There was a brief crackle of static as the message played. There was first silence, then punctuated with the deep heavy panting of a man who had perhaps run for hours on nothing but will power and bone gripping terror. There then was the sound of gulping down liquid before, finally, the man on the message spoke.

_"I found,"_ the voice began, pausing for another drink. Kraxman recognized it as the voice belonging to the same tech priest they'd listened to just a few minutes previously. _"I found Jarena, just a moment ago. She… her skin's gone. The monster's skinned her alive. Took it off her just like Vozzix. Oh, oh Throne on earth. I didn't mean for this, I didn't mean for any of this. I'm sorry. Jarena, I'm so sorry."_

He tried to say more, but his sobs got in the way. The man's weeping was eerily quiet, as if he was forcing himself to keep silent. After several minutes he managed to compose himself enough to continue._"It's been five days since we ran a current through the device. Five days since we activated it. It's been a nightmare. The restraints didn't do anything, it moved through them like they weren't even there. It killed Ferrilis and Eziphal almost immediately. I ran. I've been running all this time. I heard it take Vozzix three days ago. He was screaming so loud. I didn't know a man could scream like that. And then when I peeked my head out, I thought I saw him turn a corner. But it wasn't him. No, it wasn't him."_

The man giggled hysterically for a moment, which soon broke down into more sobbing.

_"It's destroyed all the transports so we can't get off the planet, and now it's holed up on the west side with the communications array. We're trapped. We're trapped and it's playing with us! Wait… what was that?"_

The vox cut off, and Kraxman realized he was gripped his lasgun so hard his hands were growing numb. He unclenched his hands with effort, knuckles popping from the release in pressure. He tapped his helmet vox and growled out his commands.

"Larcus, Janson, take your teams and head back to Torver's position. I want as many guns around the shuttle as possible. Hollock, meet up with me at the communications array. I want to see if we can find any sign as to what this thing is before we get off this rock."

They made their way down the halls at a quick march, everyone with their eyes open to look for the enemy. All were properly afraid now, taxing the discipline beaten into them by long training and longer combat service. Even the Senshi had sweat beading on her brow as she clenched her teeth. Kraxman considered asking her to go back to the shuttle with some of his men, but the circumstances mitigated against any reduction in numbers and he was concerned she would be offended.

The faint emergency lighting took an even more ominous tone in the wake of what they had seen and heard. The adepts here had awakened something, something that should have stayed buried. Then it had killed them all in horrifically gruesome ways. Whatever it was, _it was still be on the planet!_ There were no other shuttles that could take it anywhere else. And then there was that cryptic message on the walls of the generator room.

_The metal lives,_ Kraxman thought urgently as they trudged on, ready to shoot anything that didn't wear the uniform of the Imperial Guard. _What does that mean? How can metal be alive?_

They turned a corner, almost colliding with Hollock's group with their swift march. The sergeant was at the forefront. Kraxman almost couldn't make him out in the dim light thanks to the man's darker complexion. Order returned swiftly, however, and the now doubled team made their way to the communications array. The door was open, and two troopers dove inside, weapons ready to fire on anything that moved. The rest of the squad came inside when they gave the all clear.

"What in Serenity's name is that?"

In front of the machine, right next to a ripped open casing, was a desiccated corpse in blue robes. The man's face was drawn and thin, as if all the fluid had been sucked from his body, leaving it in a rictus mask of horrified agony. One of his men turned the adept over, the dried skin of the man's arm flaking off as he did so.

"That's the adept from the recordings," Azmina whispered, faintly out of breath. "What happened to him?"

Kraxman had no idea. He'd never seen something like this before. He'd been at the bloody aftermath of Chaos incursions and Dark Eldar raids, but their attacks always left copious amounts of gore. This, in comparison, was bloodless. But the manner in which it was done, the unknowable purpose behind everything that had happened, made the entire situation even more nerve wracking.

He noticed a small auspex near the body, strange looking and heavily modified. He bent down to retrieve it, slipping it into one of his many pockets as he gave the tech priest a closer look.

"This might be able to answer that," Halx called, motioning to a pict recorder set on the destroyed communications array. The Guardsman adjusted it for a few moments before a holographic screen emerged.

The adept's face was shown, drawn and haggard from malnutrition and lack of sleep. He stepped away from the screen, shaking as tears flowed down grime-covered cheeks.

_"This… this will be my last record,"_ he said slowly, as if struggling with the words. _"I want whoever finds this to know we meant it for the best. We meant everything for the best. We wanted to make the Imperium safer. We thought we had found the ultimate tool for that purpose. We thought we had found a weapon like no other. And we were right, may the Emperor and Princess forgive me, we were right. But it wasn't what we hoped for, what we wanted. And now I fear we've doomed the entire human race."_

Something was moving behind the adept now, barely seen in the shadow of the doorway. It was coming closer, the sound of metal on metal marking its steps.

_"We meant it for the best. We meant it for the best."_

A green light glowed from behind the man, illuminating an unnaturally thin figure. The light came from a hand with inhumanly long fingers, the points of which looked far too sharp for fingernails. At first it appeared it was wearing ragged strips of clothing, but as it came closer it became obvious this was not the case.

It was a nightmare creature, a thing dredged up from the darkest corners of the mind. Its face, if it could be called such a thing, was a metal shell shaped like an elongated skull. Blood and gore dripped from its cloak, which, to his horror Kraxman realized was made of human skin!

This thing was wearing flesh like clothes! Why would it do that? What purpose did it serve? The strange light was coming from inside the creature's hand, a monstrous appendage made of foot long knives that looked impossibly sharp.

The adept turned around, his face parallel with the necrotic glow, and screamed in agony and fear. An ethereal fog forced itself out of his eyes, ears and mouth; a fog that gave a faint glow as it was absorbed into the creature's body. The adept screamed as his skin compressed and cracked, his agony saturating the air before suddenly ceasing with the finality of a thread snapped in two.

As the adept fell to the floor, the metallic monster gave it only a moment's consideration before turning and slinking off. The blank picture continued until, with a shaking hand Halx, turned it off.

Everyone stood there, trying vainly to process what they had seen. What had that… abomination done to that poor man? Why was it doing this? They had no answers and no time to look for them.

_'Flesh…'_

"Did anyone hear that?" Azmina again asked, breaking the silence. Her voice snapped Kraxman to action. Immediately he put a hand to his helmet, activating his vox.

"Torver, I want that shuttle ready to go yesterday! We're in way over our heads here. Larcus, Janson, help Torver load up the equipment. If anything's left by the time we get back, we're leaving it!"

_"Sir, Larcus hasn't come in yet,"_ Torver responded. _"He's not responding to my calls."_

"What? Larcus, come in!" He switched to one to one frequency with the man's vox unit. "Damn it Larcus, we don't have time for this. Come in!" Static was his only answer.

_'Your flesh…'_

"You can't tell me you're not hearing this," Azmina said, distracting Kraxman from his frantic calls.

"Hear what?"

"The whispering! It's been coming from the walls for the past ten minutes now!"

"Ma'am," he snapped, frustration bleeding through. "I haven't heard a damn thing!"

_**'Give me your flesh!'**_

The voice was not in any language Azmina had ever heard before, but its intent was so strong that it lanced into her mind like a spear. The Senshi screamed, a blood curdling noise that echoed throughout the room as she clutched her head, falling to her knees in pain so intense she slammed her skull into the floor in a vain attempt to shake it off. Tears flowed from her eyes as she continued to shriek in an ear piercing sound Kraxman never would have anticipated emerging from the throat of one who was all but divine in comparison to regular men.

"The pain!" she cried. "So much pain! Millions of years without flesh and blood and feeling! An eternity trapped in the dark! Make it stop, please make it stop!"

Kraxman reached for her, trying to keep her from injuring herself, but her strength was greater than his. She tore herself free from his hands and rammed her forehead into the floor, denting it over and over again as she screamed until finally, blessedly, she knocked herself unconscious.

But screaming continued. Kraxman heard something on the other end of his vox, the crack of lasgun fire and men howling as they engaged something that was tearing them apart.

_"What the fuck is that thing!"_ Torver yelled. _"Shoot it! Shoot-"_

He cut off with a gurgle, and there was a squelching sound like a butcher slaughtering, then carving up a side of beef. He heard the heavy pounding of autocannons accented by men screaming in fear and pain.

"Grab the Senshi and come on! We've got to get back to the shuttle!"

Hollock and one of his men grabbed Azmina by the shoulders and legs. They shot down the halls at triple time, the sounds of annihilation filling their ears as the shuttle team tried desperately to hold out against the monster they'd seen on the pict screen. They, even at a full run, moved torturously slowly until, halfway there, the sounds abruptly stopped.

The hangar was a charnel house, the stench of death everywhere. Bodies were cut to ribbons, blood pooling on the floor like a crimson tide. Chunks of meat were strewn about the place. The sterile horror of the previous killing sites had now come to the opposite extreme with fifteen men slaughtered like cattle in a frenzy. The autocannons were smashed to pieces, and the thrusters on the shuttle had been sliced apart by some impossibly sharp tool.

But none of this was what drew Kraxman's eye. Standing over Torver's prone, eviscerated body was a stooped figure; its form hidden by a mottled cloak that Kraxman knew was not made from any fabric or animal leather.

It turned its head from its task; long fingers cutting Torver's hide into bloody strips. The lieutenant couldn't stop himself from recoiling in horror. Wrapped around that unnatural metal skull, worn like some kind of macabre half mask, was Larcus' face.

"You monster!"

The crack of a lasgun rang out, and Kraxman didn't even realize he had opened fire, his men following suit not one second later. Red shots of energy careened through the air, hitting the creature and everything around it with bolts of photonic death. They blew little craters in the creature's silvery skin, the material dispersing most of the energy harmlessly. Kraxman noticed other wounds beneath the ones they were inflicting upon it. There was an enormous hole in its chest from direct autocannon fire.

_How can this thing still be moving after all this?_

They shot enough lasbolts at the thing to stop a sauropod, the air in the hangar heating up in shimmering waves from the firepower unleashed. But despite all it still moved, turning to face them and taking everything they had full on. It was then Kraxman noticed that its wounds were healing, the metal that formed its body repairing the scars and craters that dotted its surface beneath its monstrous clothing. It charged them with a speed that belied the slow gate they'd seen on the recording, bladed hands ignoring the man's armor entirely and slicing a Guardsman straight through.

Kraxman shouted to his men to concentrate their fire at the creature's chest. At this close range, every volley jolted the thing shot after shot. Soon its wounds grew, especially around the hole in its chest, the rapidity of fire preventing it from fully healing itself. They drove it back. It stumbled, barely catching itself before letting loose an ear wrenching static howl before diving at the wall.

Instead of smashing into an unyielding surface, the metallic killer simply passed straight through the wall like it was made of air. Kraxman's jaw dropped, and he was only shaken from his astonishment by the sounds of his men and a faint vibration coming from one of his pockets.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts and took stock of the situation. The hangar was a mess, and their ship was destroyed. They had no way to leave the planet now. He grimaced as he turned to where Halx and the others were trying to keep Hitchens from bleeding out. Now they were trapped, prey to be picked off at this thing's discretion.

"How is he?" the lieutenant asked as he pulled the strange, vibrating auspex out of his armor jacket. It showed a dot moving away, quickly reaching the edge of the screen. _Interesting._

"Hitchens's dead, sir," Halx said with an expression like he'd just chugged some of the worst rotgut the galaxy had to offer. "Damn thing nearly cut him in half in three places."

"Fuck," Kraxman whispered. He had to restrain himself from shouting it. A member of the Imperial royalty unconscious and some kind of horror stalking the hallways of this damned laboratory. But worse than that, so much worse, over two thirds of his platoon were dead! He could feel his teeth threatening to crack under the strain of keeping his cool. He had to stay focused, had to keep his mind on dealing with the matter at hand. There'd be time for mourning later, time to think about the letters he'd have to send to his men's families.

He distracted himself with looking at the strange auspex. The dot was gone from the screen, but he was sure he'd seen it. That crazy techpriest had made something useful before he'd succumbed.

"Halx, I want you to get some men to scrounge up supplies from the shuttle. Anything we can use. Get in touch with _The Silver Lance_ if you can. If we can get off this rock I want to pound this place into slag."

"What's the damn point!" one of his men yelled out. He was shaking, hugging his weapon like it was a lifeline keeping him from falling into some dark pit. "That thing just wiped out over half the platoon! Sir, we've got to run!"

He was panicking, and the rest of the group aside from Halx and Hollock weren't far behind him. The man looked in every direction at once, trying to spot the enemy that had decimated them, before continuing. "It'll kill us all. It's gonna-"

Kraxman punched him in the jaw, sending the Guardsman off his feet and cutting short his hysterical rant.

"Get a hold of yourself! Where would we run? The planet would kill us in a few days and that thing will butcher us if we just run around the facility. We need to strike back, kill it before it kills us! Do you understand me, Guardsman?"

The man got back to his feet, legs shaking but growing steadier. He wiped some blood off his chin and saluted. "S… Sorry, sir. I don't know what came over me."

"Just don't let it happen again." He motioned to the shuttle. "Well? Get moving!"

He was sitting on a crate examining the auspex when his men returned, some supplies in hand. He knew he hadn't imagined the blip on the screen, and if this was what he thought it was, then they might have a chance.

"Wasn't too good, sir," Halx reported. "Damn thing killed the pilot and messed up the dashboard before it tore off the thrusters. I could probably jerry rig something to boost our comms to the Lance, but that would take hours."

The lieutenant grunted. "Tell me you found something we can use."

"We lucked out and found a melta bomb, but besides that there were just a few grenades. The inside of the ship looks like a tornado filled with knives set on it."

Kraxman nodded. "Think you can rig a detonator?"

Halx blinked in surprise. "Well, yeah. Shouldn't be too hard. You got something in mind, sir?"

"Yeah, I got something."

He turned to his men, who were setting down all they'd found in a pile.

"Listen up. You, you and you," he pointed. "Will stand guard over the Senshi. The rest of us are going hunting."

{oOo}

He was sweating now that he was back in the hallway, the heat of this place getting to him again now that he was back in the cramped quarters. Hollock wasn't much better, the taller Guardsmen continually wiping his forehead to keep the sweat from pouring into his eyes.

Kraxman had the auspex in front of him, his gaze never leaving it as the two men stalked down the dim corridors. They weren't taking any care to keep their footsteps concealed, combat boots sending ominous echoes down the corridors. He filtered them out, keeping his ears open and his eyes locked on the device.

"Can I say something off the record, sir?" Hollock whispered as he trained his gun down where the hall turned a corner.

"Go ahead."

"I am _really_ uncomfortable walking out here again."

"Well, you volunteered."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," the bigger man grumbled. Kraxman might have found it amusing if the situation wasn't so insanely dangerous.

A blip appeared at the edge of the auspex, slowly heading in their direction. Both men stopped to stare at the small device, keeping track of the numbers counting down till it reached their position.

"Now?"

"Not yet."

The blip came closer, speed increasing. It was ignoring walls, just heading straight for them in a beeline. The lieutenant could hear Hollock shuffling around, trying to see where the thing would come from.

"Now?" he asked with more urgency.

"Almost…"

It was almost there, just twenty meters away. He could swear he heard the thing's metal footsteps, even though such a thing would be impossible if the warp blasted thing was coming through the walls. Just ten meters away now. Five… Two…

"Now!"

They broke into a run as a clawed hand swiped from the wall adjacent to where they had been standing, missing the lieutenant by just a few scant inches. It howled that horrific sound, like someone screaming through a badly tuned vox unit, and gave chase. Kraxman spared just a moment to look over his shoulder and wished he hadn't.

The creature was still wearing Larcus' skin, but now it had strapped the robe tighter around itself using strips of flesh that had to have come from one of the other troopers it had killed. Its face was an expressionless skull, but its eyes glowed with a green light that showed its hunger. Hunger for him, for his skin. Perhaps even for something more…

They turned around the corner, nearly crashing into the wall in their haste. They caught themselves just in time, rushing down the hallway as fast as their legs could take them. All the while they heard the thing move, the strange metal that made up the creature echoing on the floor. They almost fell over themselves when the sound suddenly cut off.

Kraxman looked at the auspex, eyes widening in alarm.

"Duck!" he roared, pulling Hollock down with him as the figure burst from the wall beside them, flying through the air and crashing into the opposite wall. They ran again as it got to its feet, and Kraxman suddenly realized he was screaming at the top of his lungs, with Hollock's own cry joining his. But above both of them came the thing's horrific shriek, digging past their ears and into their brains, forcing itself inside and burning its way into memory.

It seemed like hours they ran, hounded by that wail and the echoing of metal steps. Hours chased by a creature born out of some mad engineer's fever dreams. But only minutes had passed, precious minutes where the burn in their lungs and the pain in their legs reminded them they were still alive. But for how long could they remain so? How long could they keep this up?

They ran into one of the laboratories, still screaming at the top of their lungs. The flesh wearing abomination was but a few steps behind them, crossing the doorway just seconds after they did. But adrenaline and fear pushed the Guardsmen past their limits, their steps eating ground till they were almost on the other side when the creature stepped through the opening.

"Halx, now!" Kraxman barked, his voice raw and hoarse from his exertions. The room was huge, and they were almost to the door on the other side. If they could just …

The world erupted in fire and sound, the force of it sending the two men off their feet and into the wall opposite the door with enough force to knock the wind out of them. Actinic light and black smoke filled the room, and the thing howled as the melta bomb went off right next to it, the clutch of krak grenades detonating just an instant later. Bombs designed to rip through tanks played havoc with the weaker metal around them. The walls melted under the heat, and the ceiling groaned ominously as load bearing structures evaporated under the anti-armor explosives. Various pieces of machinery sparked as the blast wave ripped into them, delicate deformations happening simultaneously with major distortions.

Kraxman groaned as he sat up, wincing at the pain in his ribs. They felt cracked. Hollock was out cold, bleeding from his temple. He was half inside and half out, the explosion knocking him through the door on the far side of the room. His back was smoking, his body armor charred from the heat the explosion had unleashed. The burning sensation he felt underneath all the chemicals swirling through his system told him he wasn't any better off.

He drew the Senshi's bolt pistol, trying to pierce the smoke. He looked at the auspex and cursed. He'd landed on the thing, which helped explain some of his aching ribs. The device was smashed, its screen cracked and pieces falling off. He chucked it to the side and returned his gaze to the smoke filled crater on the other side of the spacious room.

_Did that kill it?_ He thought furiously, his heart beating a staccato tune inside his ears. _Please tell me that killed it._

There was no screech when it emerged from the smoke, just the scraping sound of metal on the once smooth floor. One of its arms was gone completely, the other not much better as its metallic flesh ran like wax onto the floor. Its chest was cracked, the side where its arm had been sloughing down and glowing reddish yellow with residual heat. There was something amiss with its legs, which were not moving properly. But even then he could see it beginning to repair itself. Slowly but surely the metal began to reform. It reached out for him with its remaining clawed hand. As Kraxman stared into its horrible green eyes he knew that it would never stop coming for him as long as it lived, if such a word was even applicable to this horror.

He fired off the bolt pistol, the heavy rounds blowing craters in its weakened armor as it continued to reach for him. The explosive ammo took out great chunks, sending metal flying as he pulled the trigger, but still it moved onward toward him. Unyielding. Unfeeling. Unstoppable.

"Halx!" Kraxman cried, his voice coming out strangely muted in his ears. "Halx, get in here! Everybody, get in here!"

The response to his call came in the form of a bright flash, and when the spots cleared from his eyes he saw the after image of a massive beam of power. It tore through the top half of the abomination, and when the light vanished completely the thing's upper torso was simply gone. The lower half fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, lying there for a moment before disappearing in a flash of sickly green light, leaving no trace that it had ever existed at all. In some idle part of his mind Kraxman wondered if the thing had some sort of self-destruct mechanism to prevent looting. Anything was possible where this thing was concerned.

The lieutenant blinked in confusion, not sure what to make of all this as his adrenaline died down and the pain of his wounds came to the surface of his mind. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, trying to block out the burning he felt on every square inch of his being. When he opened them again, Azmina was kneeling beside him, worry etched into her beautiful features.

"Ma'am?" he said softly, but with growing alarm. "What?"

She cut him off by kissing him fiercely on the lips.

His eyes almost popped out of his head. This couldn't be happening! She was royalty, and he was just some lieutenant in the Guard. There's no way she'd be kissing him right now, and he certainly did not hear his men sniggering in the background. No, certainly not. He had to be dreaming.

_Yeah, that's got to be it. The explosion knocked me out, and this is all in my head because there's no way this is real._

Kraxman was gasping for air again when the kiss ended, though he had to admit that this time it was much more pleasant. Granted, he'd have enjoyed it more if it weren't for the burning pain he felt everywhere, but he'd take his victories however he could get them.

"Steven Kraxman," she said with a smile, though her earlier pain lingered on her expression. "I would very much enjoy if you would dine with me when we get back to _The Silver Lance._ I'm very interested in getting to know you better."

Kraxman opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking vaguely reminiscent of a fish, before he could choke out a breathless response.

"Okay."

{oOo}

Far away in the infinite void, something stirred. Something ancient and eldritch, alien in ways men could scarcely even conceive. Something made of cold logic and unshakable order, which had grown powerful before entire species had ever come to be. And now it welcomed back one of its own.

_Unit 5683785739374 has returned, extensive damage suffered. Downloading data… Data received. Corroborating with data from other units… Life in galactic sphere has returned to acceptable levels._

_New sentients have been detected alongside those already recorded. Capable of interstellar travel. Technology observed as grade 3. Threat rating: Moderate._

_Warning, new energy recorded from unit. Energy similar to wavelengths recorded from the realm designated: Empyrean. Potency: Extreme. Designated threat rating of such enemy units: Extreme. More data required. New course of action set._

_Begin initial awakening…_

{oOo}


	15. Arrival of the Endless Swarm

**__**{oOo}

**_THE ARRIVAL OF THE ENDLESS SWARM_**

{oOo}

Bursts of light brighter than the sun flashed across the waters of Tyran. The lights had been going on and on in a steady rhythm for hours now, the air taking the greasy texture of ozone as the giant planetary defense lasers flashed again and again, sending waves of photonic death into the starry void past the planet's atmosphere. The power of the guns sent waves of heat in all directions, making the ocean around their emplacements steam. This much constant use would have overheated the equipment had their fire not been staggered, and even then the systems were being taxed to their limits.

Up above the sky was a madhouse of explosions and death, great miles long ships of adamantium and ceramite trading blows with monstrous creations of flesh and bone. Cannons fired in the airless expanse, sending shell after shell at the horde. The alien's losses were horrific, but they didn't seem to care. No matter the abuse they kept pushing forward, firing and retreating only when the Imperial ships managed to push them back with sufficient fire. Already six of the fleshy ships, each as large as Grand Cruisers, were floating dead in space, shattered by the defense. The lasers shot forth again, pummeling another as large as a full battleship until it broke apart in an explosion of fire and chitinous alien flesh.

But it gave the men manning the Cruisers no satisfaction. Already, as had happened so many times before since the battle began, another ship came through the strange spore cloud that had appeared in the system little under a week ago. It fell in line with its fellows, throwing its might against the Imperial ships as they desperately tried to hold the line.

"And now there's another one!" Lord Governor Korgald Tyrex yelled as he and various other parties watched the hololith. He turned to an older man, his beard trimmed with grey. "Sarath, you've traveled the galaxy over during your time with the Guard. Surely you must have some idea what these things are!"

"I have no idea, my lord," General Sarath Goliad said with a frown, stroking his short beard thoughtfully. "Never in all my years have I seen creatures like this, even before I retired to Tyran."

"There's no way these creatures can be a complete unknown! Emperor on Earth, we're on the edge of the galaxy here! What new enemy could possibly have snuck up on us?"

"Governor, I believe you have hit the issue right on its head," came a feminine voice as if through a finely tuned vox unit.

"What do you mean, Magos Reftrix?"

Reftrix breathed evenly through the breathing apparatus that replaced her mouth and throat, her drawn hood hiding a multitude more augmentations from sight. She dug a data pad from her crimson robes and jacked it into the hololith, breaking the picture in two. On one screen scenes from the battle in orbit continued. On the other, a map of Segmentum Ultima appeared.

"As you know," she continued, various icons appearing on planets light-years away from Tyran. "There have been reports over the last few years of various uninhabited planets being scoured clean of organic material. Nothing much was thought of it at the time. After all, there are thousands of things that can ruin a planet. But now I believe they're related to the things attacking Tyran now."

"How can you be so sure?" Tyrex interjected.

"Observe where these dead worlds are in relation to Tyran, gentlemen. Observe where they begin."

The two men stared at the map, their attention torn between it and the ongoing battle in space. It was several seconds before someone spoke again.

"It's a direct line to Tyran," Goliad whispered. "A straight shot from the edge of the galaxy to here. Do you honestly mean to tell me these monsters came from the dark space outside the galactic rim?"

"That's absurd!" Tyrex exclaimed. "The nearest galaxy is millions of light-years away! Nothing could possibly survive such a trip!"

"And yet these Xenos have appeared at our door," came a deeper voice from the shadows. All of them jumped, though the tech priest hid it the best out of all of them. They turned toward the towering figure who had till then remained silent, taking in information pooling from the hololith. "Denial will not change reality."

He was huge, as all Astartes were, his shaven head making the three bolts in his skull even more apparent. It was surprising that he managed to keep attention off himself while wearing his crimson armor, but with the situation spiraling out of control this could be forgiven. There were more important things to worry about now.

"Captain Gaiyas," Reftrix said with a slight nod of her head. "Do you have something you would like to add? The input of the Genesis Chapter would be appreciated during these trying times."

"Only that I fear this situation might be, in part, our fault."

Tyrex's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"As you know, we came to this world to cleanse the taint of the vile Genestealers. Whole islands had fallen to the dammnedable things. Never before had I encountered an infestation on this scale."

"Wait," Goliad interrupted. "Do you mean to say the creature in space are somehow related to the Genestealers? But that doesn't make sense. The things have never demonstrated their own technology before. They just steal things from species they've infiltrated."

"I cannot say anything for certain. What I do know is that when we cleansed the nests our Librarians said they heard a kind of psychic call, like a beacon signaling something far away. The timing between the Genestealers call and these creatures is far too close to be mere coincidence."

"Well, that doesn't much help us now, does it?" Tyrex grumbled, setting the battle in space back to its larger setting. He kept his eyes locked on it as he addressed Reftrix. "Are the Astropaths still not able to send word out?"

"No," the techpriest said simply. "They speak of a shadow in the warp blocking their gifts. They have not been able to penetrate it."

"I have taken the liberty of sending my company's Librarians to give what aid they can," Gaiyas put in. "Perhaps they will be able to get through."

"Emperor on earth, I hope so. We need some good news today."

{oOo}

"Dammit," the tall man sitting in the captain's chair mumbled as he observed the situation. Despite all their efforts nothing was changing! They killed a ship and another took its place. They pushed a little forward, and then fell back as the enemy solidified its position. They sent volley after volley of fire toward the enemy, and all they did was soak it up without any care for their losses! "Why are they doing this? If they have the numbers to replace ships, why haven't they just swarmed us?"

The cruiser rocked under the fire from another of the strange, organic ships, and the captain ground his teeth together. It would take more than some single, errant shot to sink his ship. But this battle had been going for hours, and the vessel under his command had been struck several times. Its valiant, mighty shell was scarred and pitted, but it held on. It would always hold on, as strong as the Imperium itself! He'd always thought that about his ship, his one true love in life. He'd fallen for the sleek craft the moment he'd laid eyes on it and the vast expanse it traveled through.

Which was why this battle grated on him so. It didn't seem like a true confrontation. This back and forth between them, a new ship arriving whenever one fell, it was almost like they were being tested. He thought of a small child poking a strange object with a stick and found the comparison irritatingly relevant.

"What's the report from our fighter craft?" he snapped to one of his bridge men.

"No change, Captain Jaran. The enemy's own fighters continue to hold their positions, keeping our flyboys from reaching their heavy vessels. It's damned peculiar, if you don't mind my saying so, sir."

"Incredibly peculiar," Jaran muttered, leaning back into his seat.

_A test,_ he thought to himself, mulling over everything. _But who can afford to waste such enormous assets with a test? No one in their right mind just throws away cruiser class ships like this._

Another flash from Tyran revealed the planetary defense lasers showing their might. It sliced through a swarm of fighter craft near one of the bigger ships, and even managed to clip the ship on the side. Jaran couldn't hold back a smile as he saw the fleshy thing's side blacken and burn under the onslaught. The smile died when he realized that, ultimately, this didn't change much. The enemy would simply continue to absorb their losses and keep pushing at them. He gripped his armrests, shaking with barely retrained frustration.

"Sir! There's a change in the enemy's movements!"

"Finally," Jaran said with relief, thankful that this rote, systematic battle was changing at last. "Where are they heading? Are they trying to flank us?"

"No sir. It looks like they're retreating."

"What?"

"A full retreat, sir," he said again. "Four of their ships show heavy damage, and the other two are moderately wounded."

"Then maybe the damned things have finally run out of replacements," he said as he stood up. "Signal the fleet! We're going to harass the enemy as they retreat! We'll hit these blighters all the way to the edge of the system! In Serenity's name, we'll make them think twice about hitting an Imperial world ever again!"

The cruisers chased after the alien ships as they fled, firing shot after shot against them. Another of their ships fell, the wreck breaking apart in smoldering in space before erupting in a flash of plasma. Jaran felt his blood quicken. This is what he had wanted, a battle where he made a difference! These scum were beaten, they'd push them to the edge of the system in tatters!

"Sir, the Astartes Strike Cruiser _Righteous Fury_ is not following our call to chase out the xenos!"

This snapped Jaran out of his quiet revelry. He blinked in surprise. "What? Why not?"

"They claim they're not under the navy's jurisdiction, and caution that we're extending ourselves too far from the planet."

Jaran grunted, waving his hand in a gesture of contempt. "I'd not thought the Astartes to be cowards. Fine, let them sit. We'll rout these scum ourselves!"

Return fire was minimal, most of the enemy ships using the majority of their power to aid in their escape. Crippled as they were, the cruisers easily kept pace with them. In fact, they were gaining ground, coming remarkably close as battles in space were measured.

Which was why everyone was surprised when one of the most damaged ships broke off and interposed itself between the alien vessels and the Imperial ships. All cruisers fired as one, pummeling the thing until it burst open. It broke once, and then twice, before whatever strange propulsion system the thing ran on combusted like the one before. The various sensor equipment went wild as energy flooded through space, Imperial ships shaking under the force of the huge explosion occurring so close to them. The holopicts blurred and were filled with static as techpriests raced to repair them, and inwardly Jaran was seething.

"Damn thing delayed us," Jaran cursed, accurately reading the purpose of the xenos ship's actions. Precious minutes had been wasted, and now what remained of the attacking fleet was almost to the spore field that had appeared before the creatures' arrival into the system. "It doesn't matter! Press on! We'll smash these scum to pieces! They can't hide from the might of the Imperium's navy!"

The men on the bridge shouted their agreement, getting swept up in Jaran's fervor as they pressed on, the rest of the fleet backing them up. The enemy had pushed through the cloud, but that was of little consequence. They followed, the spores burning against the void shields of the majestic fleet. As they pressed through, Jaran couldn't keep a grin from his face. The enemy would either flee or stand their ground and fight. Either way they would cease to be a problem. Jaran was sure of it. And when all was said and done, they'd be the heroes of the hour, the mighty defenders who had repelled the vile xenos threat.

The reality was far less comforting.

The first sign was the frantic scream that came from one of the helmsmen, his eyes locked on his data screen even as his voice reached ever-higher levels of distress. Soon enough his comrades joined him in his anguish, the information pouring from the equipment racing down in front of their eyes filling them with fear.

Sweat poured down Jaran's brow as his jaw dropped. The hololith was filled with contact icons, so many that it almost seemed to be a sea of red. There were millions of them, tens of millions. Space, vast and desolate, was full to the brim with strange, alien ships made of flesh and bone. They were everywhere, as far as the eye could see and more. The equipment on board couldn't even get an accurate count of them! It was as if they just continued on forever!

And all of them were pointed straight at the Imperial fleet.

"How?" Jaran asked breathlessly, all strength leaving him. He fell back into his chair, sitting limply like a broken doll. They'd only killed eight ships. Eight! So few when there were so many. They'd only taken a drop out of the ocean. No, less than that. They'd accomplished nothing at all. Vaguely, he could hear his men screamed at him to give orders, to give them a command!

"Fall back," Jaran whispered. "Fall back. Fall back!"

The ships halted their momentum, trying vainly to turn around and get away from the overwhelming force in front of them. But it was far too little, far too late.

As one, the front ranks opened fire. Void shields flickered and failed, countless strikes impacting one after another. Strangely colored plasma and weird, bony torpedoes rocked the fleet in such quantities it was almost like a solid wave.

Half the fleet died in the first minute.

{oOo}

_"They're limitless!"_ Captain Jaran hysterically called as the Governor and the assembled party listened on, horror growing on their faces as new information came in from the quickly diminishing defense fleet. _"There's just no end to them! Oh, Princess forgive me, there's no end to them! We're dead! We're all-"_

The vox cut out, leaving only static.

"These numbers can't be right," Tyrex whispered. "There's just… How?"

"The information coming in appears to be accurate," Reftrix said softly, shock bleeding through even her emotionless voice.

"How long till the enemy arrives?" Goliad said, pulling himself together.

"If the holy instruments are correct, the fleet in its entirety should be arriving in little less than five hours. There might be an advance party, however. They might be able to make it in three."

"Then our course is clear," Gaiyas said before anyone could speak up again. "We will transport as many civilians as we can onto the _Righteous Fury_, along with any other vessels capable of warp jump. After that we'll make our stand here, hopefully making enough of a distraction for the ships to get beyond whatever this damned shadow is doing to the Warp."

"Couldn't your Strike Cruiser be put to use in the planet's defense?"

"It would be swept aside in an instant, gaining us nothing. No, my duty is clear. Someone must know what happened here. We must ensure as much of Tyran as possible escapes to tell the tale."

The Magos nodded. "Your logic is sound. Tyran is lost. We must ensure the Imperium survives. I will compile a report on all that has happened. Hopefully it will weather the storm."

"I'll set what few psykers we have in the PDF toward helping the Astropaths," Goliad put in. "We might be able to get at least a fragment out there."

Throughout the planning Tyrex's expression went through several stages. First there was horror, then anger, and then finally resignation. He gave one last look at the hololith, letting out a small sigh before he turned on his heel and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Gaiyas called. He did not sound judgmental, only curious.

"Where do you think?" Tyrex grumbled. "My family has kept a battered old set of artificer armor from the Crusade days. If Tyran is going to fall, then the Tyrex family shall fall with it. But we shall fall fighting!"

Gaiyas nodded. "It will be an honor to battle beside you, Governor. Perhaps we can call each other brothers before the end comes."

"Aye. I'd like that." He looked at his hands, clenching them in tightly controlled fear. He was terrified. This was obvious. But through the terror there was something stronger guiding him. Determination, perhaps? "To do something meaningful, before the end."

"Fight well, brother."

"And you… brother."

{oOo}

The first ships came within hours, filling the sky and blotting out the sun in their multitude. They were every shape and size, their appearance organic like every other ship had been. They seemed like they had been grown rather than made. Considering everyone that had happened so far, such a ludicrous thought didn't seem so outrageous.

As soon as they hit orbit, the defense lasers lashed out, pouring shot after shot into the sky. They varied their fire, the rate increasing without any care that the equipment was overheating. The technicians knew they were ruining the equipment even as they tried to coax more power into the output. Indicators screamed in the red, flashing warning after warning, but the techpriests manning them merely offered a prayer and kept to their work. It was not right to treat sacred technology thus, but they had to. They had to hit these foul creatures as hard as they could before the end. For was it not the duty of technology to benefit humanity? Truly there could be no greater honor for the machine spirits than to give themselves thus, so that some small kernel of Tyran could be saved.

Their actions did not go unnoticed. The response was immediate even as the powerful weapon struck the first few ships, burning the fleshy matter and breaking off truly massive chunks of bone. Seed like torpedoes launched in uncountable numbers, hitting the planet on seemingly every square inch of its surface.

As the lasers caught the invading force's attention, a motley series of ships careened through space on the opposite side of the planet. All available power was going straight to the sub light engines, trying to get as far away from Tyran and the hoard that even now descended upon them.

All available forces had been arranged around the defense lasers, the only true defense Tyran had left. They saw the terrible rain fall upon them, shot as many as they could out of the air with cannon fire, but still they came.

But the true horror was known after the pods touched ground. From within the fleshy folds emerged things out of the dreams of madmen. They were creatures of teeth and claws and chitin, thousands upon thousands of them. Some were as small as a man; others towered higher than even the mightiest tanks. They rushed as one against the defenders, screeching bestial sounds unlike anything they'd ever heard before.

"Stand fast, men!" Gaiyas shouted as the defenders shot into the horde. "We must hold the line!"

He put his words into action by firing off a shot from his plasma gun, downing one of the larger creatures in a burst of sun fire. At his side was Governor Tyrex, armed in a regal, if battered, set of artificer armor. He laid down a line of fire from his heavy flamer, setting several of the beasts ablaze.

The defenders fired shot after shot, Guardsmen and PDF standing side by side with Astartes. Autocannon placements shot great holes in the oncoming horde, and lascanons burned their carapaces even as bolter shells and lasbolts struck down hundreds of aliens in droves.

But still they came, trampling over their own dead as they rushed toward the defenders. Auto and lascanons overheated and broke down within the first hour, never once ceasing their fire before the metal warped and rendered them nonfunctional. Soon enough the men were fighting on their own, sword and gun against tooth and claw.

A Guardsman fell screaming under a mob of four legged creatures with spears for arms even as the giant claws of a towering monstrosity pierced a marine, his magnificent crimson armor crumpling like tinfoil. Some shot strange ammunition from weapons attached to their own bodies, crawling things that burrowed into the flesh and ate men from the inside out.

"There's too many of them!" one man shouted as a monster the size of a building trod among the line, reaping havoc as it did so.

"Take it down!" a marine barked, firing bolter shell after bolter shell into the beast, gouging huge craters in its chitinous flesh. "Bring it down!"

"They just keep coming!" someone screamed before a monster jumped from the teeming mass and bit out his throat. He clutched at his ruined windpipe weakly before falling over.

"Hold it back! Hold them back!" a Catachan Guardsman cried as he went full auto, no longer caring to aim. There were so many of them there wasn't any point in being careful.

"Hold your ground, men of the Imperium!" Gaiyas roared as he fired an endless stream of plasma into the never-ending mass of enemies. "Hold your ground!"

Gaiyas' call cut off in a gurgle was a giant pincer lifted him into the air, the claw connected to one of the largest of the abominations. Its maw was filled with teeth, and within its beady eyes Gaiyas saw a malign intelligence. This was no mere beast, no mindless berserker. This was something infinitely more dangerous. He saw hunger, a never-ending urge to devour everything in its path and leave nothing but barren ground in its wake.

He could not hold back a scream of pain as the claw cut through his armor and into his flesh, drawing his lifeblood like a red tide. But even as it did he leveled his weapon, the plasma bursting right in the thing's face, pulping it in an explosion of star fire and gore.

Life left him even before he was flung to the ground in the monster's death throes. Tyrex screamed anger and defiance as he rushed to the fallen marine's side, letting loose a long stream of fire from his weapon. He stood over the captain's prone form, felling several before he, too, was overwhelmed.

In space, the captain of the _Righteous Fury_ ground his teeth as he saw, even at their great distance, Tyran fall. He should be down there with his battle brothers, should not leave them to die alone! It went against every fiber of his being to run away, to leave his comrades to perish! His command chair shook as he seethed with self loathing and grief, the metal warping under his genetically enhanced strength.

_Calm down Boralis,_ he thought to himself, getting his thoughts in order. His shaking ceased, and he forced his hands to unclench. _You have a job to do._

"Are we free of the strange Warp activity yet?"

"No sir. The Navigators are still saying there's a gigantic shadow in the Warp."

"So there's been no change at all?" Boralis asked as he ground his teeth. Had all they'd sacrificed been for nothing?

"Well, no sir. They saw the shadow isn't quite as… thick, they said, this far away."

Boralis steepled his hands in front of his face as he leaned forward on his command chair, his brow pinched in thought. He stayed that was for several moments, looking at things far away, before finally sitting up straight.

"Tell the other ships to link their timing with ours. We're going to force a Warp jump."

The helmsman looked up at him in shock. "Sir? Do you know what you're asking?"

"Damned right I do," Boralis growled. "But we don't have any other options. Soon enough those monsters are going to turn their attention to us if they haven't already. Now follow my orders!"

The man flinched. "Yes sir!"

There was a psychic scream as the ships phased from one realm to the other, like reality was wrenching upon itself. One by one they left, each following the other in quick succession. Soon enough all were gone.

And behind them, Tyran was no more. Simply a hunk of rock swarmed over by the endless alien tide.

{oOo}

Inquisitor Kryptman of the Alien Relations Branch scratched his head as he went over the reports from the Eastern Fringe one more time. Unfortunately, the facts on the data slate remained the same despite once again looking them over, and he had to restrain the urge to throw the damned thing at the wall.

"This is impossible," he whispered. "What on Terra is going on over there?"

There was a knock on the door, snapping Kryptman out of his frustrated musings.

"Come in."

"My lord, our Astropaths just received a message," one of his assistants said as he walked into the room.

"Something else?" Kryptman groaned. "Can't Carlos or Eirick deal with it? I'm swamped between negotiations with the Draxians and whatever the hell is going on in the Eastern Fringe."

"That's just it, sir," the aide continued. "The message is from the Eastern Fringe. It's broken up badly, sir, but we're fairly sure it's near the space around Tyran."

That sent the Inquisitor's eyebrows up. "Hand it over. Maybe we can make sense of this mess yet."

{oOo}

Roboute never gave himself much time to relax. There was always something to be done when one was a leader of men, and he'd often find something to do even when there wasn't. But every now and then he allowed himself a few hours to simply to himself. He enjoyed times such as those greatly, and he let out a contented sigh as he eased back into the giant chair he'd set aside for just such a purpose.

He turned another page of the huge, leather bound tome in his hands. It was a gift from Serenity, old tales of heroes across the Imperium. Stories of dashing adventurers and harrowing victories snatched from the jaws of defeat, of rogues forced by strange situations to give aid to strangers and noble men who put themselves between the innocent and those that would prey upon them. He smiled a bit as he read, able to finally indulge a little in one of his favorite hobbies.

He vaguely heard someone walking down the hall toward his door, heavy footsteps coming at a hurried pace. He mused, with one small part of his mind as he turned another page, that it was odd he hadn't noticed it sooner. But then he'd always thrown himself into whatever he was doing, whether it was his constant work or the few times he did something purely for enjoyment's sake. He'd realized long ago that was the best way to go about things, even if it meant he got distracted sometimes. The door opened softly.

"Sir?" a voice said from the side. Roboute looked up where his trusted second stood, holding a data slate in hand. He smiled and closed his book, marking the page. He wasn't annoyed by the abrupt intrusion. Marneus never had to knock with him.

The marine's posture, however, set off alarm bells in the Primarch's mind. Marneus was always cool and composed, a bastion of efficiency and professionalism that always made him such a pleasure to work with. But now his expression was drawn tight with worry, his shoulders hunched as if he bore a great weight. His face almost seemed thin, if such a thing could even be applied to an Astartes. Such an expression on a man like Marneus Calgar was the equivalent of another man in full panic.

Something was wrong.

Roboute set the book aside, his full attention on his second in command. "Yes, Marneus?"

"I think you need to see this…"

{oOo}


	16. The Imperium Never Sleeps I

{oOo}

THE IMPERIUM NEVER SLEEPS

_NOT YOUR AVERAGE DAY_

{oOo}

"DECKARD! Get your ass in here!"

Ah, the sweet sounds of incredulous rage. The morning started off with its usual tradition, my boss yelling at me. It's just another day living in smoggy, wet Samson IV. Joy.

Samson IV is basically like any other Hive world in the Imperium, full of big cities with lots of people in them. Though if I had to give my opinion it's grimier than is typical for one of the great city worlds dotting the galaxy. The usual weather is overcast and unpleasantly chill. The skies are smoggy and when it rains you sometimes get an uncomfortable itching sensation. So most everyone goes about with their skin covered on general principle.

Really, I blame the fact that it's located in the Calixis Sector. Segmentum Obscurus is not a nice place, and this sector in particular has a bad history of strange things happening. Samson IV's barely inside the Calixis region, but we still get a fair amount of weird occurrences. And, of course, I'm the man who's got to deal with it.

Why me? Because I'm an Arbitrator. A detective, to be precise. Not that anyone actually appreciates the fine work I do.

"Do you have any idea how much damage you caused?" my boss screamed as I sat down, his face getting red. The old man really needed to watch his blood pressure. I'm pretty sure his head was just gonna pop one of these days.

"What? It was just an aircar."

"That you crashed into a crowded building!"

"Well, the perps were getting away and I was outnumbered. Had to stop them somehow."

"And for some reason," my boss said with deliberate slowness, leaning forward to show me just how serious he was. "You thought that the best way to do this was to crash the getaway vehicle?"

"Well, it worked, right?"

"Emperor on Earth, Deckard," the Chief said as he put his head in his hands. "You're insane. Why do you keep making so many problems? It's enough to drive a man to drink."

See what I mean about not being appreciated?

"But you already drink."

"That's not the point!"

I leaned forward, putting on a blank expression so as to not piss my boss off any further. There's only so much you can push, after all, before you go from cute and endearing to really, really stupid. "So, what's going to happen then?"

The Chief sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes for a moment. "No one was hurt, thank the Emperor, and you did catch the perps before they could get away with that arms shipment. So that takes some heat off. You're a good arbitrator, Deckard. But this has been going on too long. I'm not going to be able to keep protecting you like this forever."

Wow. Okay, this might have been a little more serious than I thought if the Chief is this worried. The man opened his eyes again and looked at me.

"You're still on duty and I won't relieve you of your weapon. But listen to me, Deckard. You've repeatedly annoyed people in high places with every stunt you've pulled the last few years. I can shake them off for now, but you need to ease off a bit. Lay low, do routine stuff. Don't go getting into any more car chases or the usual bullshit."

Yep, it's definitely more serious this time. Damn, looks like my latest fracas might have given people who already don't like me all the ammo they needed to make my life a living hell. As if I don't have enough problems.

I mean, you hit on a nobleman's daughter ONCE when dealing with a terrorist attack and suddenly everybody thinks you're some kind of crazy maverick. No justice in the galaxy, I tell ya.

"I understand," I said with a quiet sigh. These next few weeks were gonna be rough. "I'll try to not ripple the waters too much."

The Chief looked at me sideways a bit, probably trying to gauge how sincere I was. I'd be annoyed if he didn't have good reason to doubt me. Finally, he nodded.

"You're dismissed, Deckard."

I leave without any fanfare; no childish outbursts like slamming the door or anything like that. In his own way, the Chief's always coming to bat for me. He doesn't deserve a hard time either from me or because of me. I hate to say it, but all those times I skirted the line might be coming back to bite me now.

I walked quickly through the hall of cubicles, intent on getting by without any interruption. But life, which had been going so well so far today, decided that just wasn't in the cards.

"Hey Mat!" one of my fellow arbitrators, Haldron, called out. "You see the latest in the papers?"

I sighed and walked over. "No. What's the damage?"

He held up a newssheet where on the front page, in crisp detail, was a picture of me fighting off three guys inside a large aircar, the pilot slumped unconscious beneath me. The headline read "Arbitrator Foils Arms Smuggling Plot!" Which sounded all well and good, really. Of course, the bit under it read "Crashes getaway vehicle into Administratum Building!"

"Seems like the media doesn't know whether to say you're a hero or a madman, Mat."

"Well, what else is new?"

We chatted for a bit longer before I headed out, stewing a bit in my own frustrations. This always occurs to me, crazy nonsense happening every few months that I got in the middle of, and it was getting me attention I didn't need. All I wanted to do now was make my rounds across the Hive, go home and break open some cheap booze while watching the latest scrumball match on the pictscreens.

I made my way to the parking platform, heading toward my car. The day couldn't be done soon enough, as far as I was concerned.

Which was when I saw the first pleasant thing to happen to me today leaning beside my car.

"Well Emperor on Earth and Serenity dancing among the stars! Raz! When did you get back?"

Razith'al Malloson, my partner, was resting his rump right on the side of my sweet red aircar. His lips quirked up a bit at my greeting. As you could probably tell by the name, he was an Eldar. Tall, skinnier than most humans with long pointed ears. You couldn't really mistake him for anything else. He'd definitely catch eyes from both humans and his own kind walking down the street the way he was dressed in mostly human clothing. The only acknowledgement he gave to Eldar fashion were the necklace around his neck with his soul stone and the belt of wraithbone holding his pants up. He brushed back a stray black hair, tied in a ponytail like always, and responded with a smirk.

"Hey, Zen," he said in that lilting, musical tone common among his people. "I landed planet side just an hour ago, actually."

Zen's my middle name, which Raz insisted on calling me. He claimed it's because I've reached some kind of higher consciousness with how I act mostly in the moment. Personally, I think he's bullshitting me and just calls me that because I don't want to say his whole name.

We shook hands, a tight grip from old friends, and got in the car. I took off smoothly, gaining altitude and getting out of Arbitrator airspace.

"So," Raz began, pulling out a paper from his long coat. "Has the Chief already chewed you out for this?"

I groaned, seeing the same paper Haldron had shown me just twenty minutes ago. "Yeah. Yeah, he did. And he told me to keep low profile. Apparently I've annoyed a few too many people this time."

"My, I wonder how?" Raz said with humor in his voice. He did that a lot when we talked. It got on my nerves sometimes, but mostly I just let it roll off. He doesn't mean anything by it.

Raz was an odd duck for an Eldar. I'll be honest; most of those guys are know it all assholes. It might be a consequence of living for thousands of years, or maybe bitterness over how their empire fell so long ago. Probably both. But Raz, in the six years we'd been working together, was just really mellow. Maybe it was because he's only a bit over three hundred, which made him just a little younger than me in Eldar terms, but he really didn't act like he was all that superior to everybody else.

"Not in the mood Raz," I growled a bit as I got into another lane. "The Chief said he'd do what he can for me, so let's just leave it at that, all right?"

He held up his hands. "All right, all right. No need to snap at me right when I get back. There's always tomorrow, after all."

I grumbled out something tasteless and kept driving. It was lunchtime, so everyone was driving either too fast or way to slow. It's always one or another in this Hive. It stayed silent for a little bit before eventually my foul mood lightened a bit and I spoke again. Raz didn't deserve my temper any more than the Chief did.

"Sorry about that."

"It's fine. Things haven't gone your way recently. I can empathize."

Well that certainly got my attention.

"Troubles with the parents again? Is that why you were gone so long this time?"

Raz sighed and leaned back, trying to get more comfort out of my grox leather seats. He turned to the window and watched the other cars go by. "They either want me to come home to the Craftworld or go wandering around the galaxy with other Eldar. I'll be honest with you, Zen, they hate that I'm living in the Calixis Sector and that I'm working with human law enforcement."

"And by 'human' they mean Mon'keigh, right?"

He winced a bit. "You've pretty much got it right."

"Don't beat yourself up too much over it. It's not your fault, and we're not any better really. We've had more anti-alien rallies in the last five months than we've had in the last five years."

Raz turned from the window and sat straighter. "Has it really gotten worse since I left?"

"Oh yeah. There's been some kidnappings, some assaults. Some idiots even started a fire in the alien quarters of the city. Bunch of morons. Last thing this planet needs is more hate crime."

"Wait… is my apartment all right?"

"First thing I checked, buddy. No worries."

He leaned back again. "Well, that's a relief."

"Yeah, cause if your place had burned down your bony ass would have to shack at my place."

"I'll have you know my ass in the epitome of perfection. It's not my fault you humans are so fat."

"Uh huh, and that's why Maria loves looking at it so much."

He shuddered and I smirked. If he was going to call me fat, he should have expected I'd hit back where it hurts.

"I thought we weren't going to bring her up again."

"Hey, what can I say? The lady likes what she likes. She's been pining after you while you've been gone, you know. Keeps bugging me about when you'll be back."

"Don't tell her anything," he said with such a serious face that I couldn't help but laugh. "I want some peace and quiet before we have to deal with her again."

"My lips are sealed."

"_We've got a situation in progress,"_ came a voice over my vox unit._"Hate crime in progress at Garax Metal Works. A human male is holding four Eldar children hostage. I repeat. We have a hostage situation at Garax Metal Works. All available units head to the scene."_

Raz looked at me. "That's just five minutes away, Zen."

I punched the transmitter button on the vox. "This is Deckard and Malloson. We're on our way to the scene."

It took breaking a few traffic laws, but I made it in three. Hey, that's what the siren is for.

There weren't any lights on at Garax Metal Works, which only made sense since this branch of the company was closed down for inspection and an ongoing investigation. Apparently someone wasn't keeping everything up to safety standards.

Hate guys like that, bastards who take advantage of desperate people and then skim off the topic by not keeping things up to code. Taking any poor schlub who needs a job to get by. Taking in illegal aliens who're too afraid to speak up against dangerous working conditions. Even hiring children…

Bad memories.

Two other cars were already at the scene when we made it, but only one of our guys was standing in front of the factory.

"What's the situation?" Raz asked as we got out of the car. An older Arbitrator, Jaxon, answered him.

"Nothing too serious so far. Bastard knows we're out here, though. Took a couple of pot shots at us."

"Weapon?"

"Busted up old slug thrower. Looks like ganger equipment to me."

"Shit," I muttered. "So you think he's part of the anti-alien gangs?"

"Probably one of them. It's strange, though. It looks like he's acting alone."

I blinked. "What? That's not common ganger MO."

"He's not alone," Raz said softly, looking at the building. "There's one other person in there."

"You getting some vibes, Malloson?" Jaxon asked, turning his attention to my partner.

All Eldar are psychic, but it varies from Eldar to Eldar. Raz wasn't especially powerful, just able to sense emotions and do a few other neat tricks. So if he felt more people in there, I believed him. It's saved my ass before.

"Yeah," he muttered, squinting a bit as if trying to focus. "But it's weird. They feel… strange."

"How so?"

"I'm not really sure. It's kind of like they're not in their right minds. I think they might be drugged."

"Fantastic," I interjected, bringing all eyes back to me. What can I say? I like being the center of attention sometimes. "So they might be on combat stims then. Okay, Jaxon. You think you and the others can block all the exits?"

"Between the four of us, yeah. We've already got guys covering the back and the sides. What are you planning, Deckard?"

"I'm planning on sneaking in there and taking these bastards with their pants down. If you all block the exits then we can make sure they don't get away."

Jaxon looked at me as if I'd suggested going up to an Ork and slapping him in the face. I was actually a little offended. My plans weren't as suicidal as that. Usually. "What? Deckard, you can't be serious. It's too dangerous for just you and Malloson. Wait for backup."

"Backup's ten minutes away, Jaxon," I responded as I dug out my carapace armor from my trunk. Raz was already getting his on. "Those kids could be dead by then."

Jaxon still looked uncomfortable with my plan, but options were limited. We were the closest people to deal with the issue. The rest of the Force wouldn't get here in time to stop one of the gangers from killing a hostage to show he's serious.

"Damn it, fine! We'll each set up around the exits. But Deckard, I want it on record I don't support this."

"Yeah, yeah," came my muffled response as I slipped on my armor. Raz and I left our coats in the car. They'd really just get in the way at this point. I clipped my shock maul to my belt and pulled out my laspistol. Normally I would have taken my shotgun also, but with the kids in there I didn't want to risk hitting one of them with the pellet spread.

I checked the gun's charge and turned to Raz, who was doing the same with his own weapon.

"Ready?"

"Been waiting for you."

I snorted. "Right. Let's just get moving, wise guy."

We made our way to one of the side entrances. Likely the gangers were separated one to the front and the other in the back. The hostages would be close by one of them to make sure they didn't bolt, so we'd have to be quick about this and take them out close enough to the same time.

The lock was easy enough to pick, and soon enough we were inside the gloomy interior of a shut down metal smithing factory. Only it wasn't so shut down. For some reason the furnaces were on, sending up waves of heat and generally making me feel really uncomfortable in my carapace armor.

"They turned the equipment on?" I whispered, barely able to hear my own voice. Raz, however, heard me just fine.

"Seems like. Doesn't make any sense, though."

"Question for later. Let's do this."

I crouched low, keeping my center of gravity as close to the ground as possible. Raz copied me, and we made our way in the dim illumination provided by the blazing infernos inside the smelting forges. After a while our eyes adjusted, and it didn't take us long to find our targets.

One was standing by the hostages, like where I'd suspected they'd be. He was a big guy with a crew cut, a long scar going down his face. He was keeping an eye on the kids in front of one of the furnaces. The other guy, wearing leather and way too much gel in his hair, was near the front by the windows to keep an eye out on our guys. We'd have to do this soon, because it wouldn't take a genius to spot our movements.

I had to restrain a snarl. Bastard probably planned on chucking them in there in case we tried to raid the place. He was over a hundred meters away, well out of range for our pistols. I tapped Raz on the shoulder.

"Think you can make the shot?"

Raz just grinned. "Of course I can."

Raz lined his pistol up, taking a little time to steady himself. Then, in the blink of an eye, he pulled the trigger.

Remember when I talked about those neat tricks Raz can do with his psychic powers? One of them is using it to make impossible shots. The lasbolt careened through the air, staying steady despite the insane range, and took the guy straight between the eyes, blowing his brains out. He fell backwards into the furnace and the children screamed, terrified at the noise and the man who was suddenly on fire.

"Arbitrators!" I yelled to the other one, keeping my gun pinned on the man as I walked toward him. "Drop your weapon and get on the ground!"

The guy just looked at me, like his eyes saw something far away. It was creepy, as if he didn't really hear me. Or if he did, he didn't really consider it worth acknowledging. He raised his gun.

"I said drop your weapon!" I yelled again, aiming for the man's shoulder and shooting. It hit dead on, nearly taking his arm off as the lasbolt sheered straight through the meat and bone. He dropped the slug thrower, the limb's nerves cauterized to uselessness, but besides that there was barely a twitch out of him. It's like he just didn't feel me almost blowing off his limb. I'll be honest. I felt a chill. Drugs or no drugs, that's just not natural.

Then he ran, heading straight for me. I fired another shot, hitting him straight in the gut. He took it and kept going.

"Zen, get out of the way!" Raz shouted, and I ducked instinctively. He fired off a shot, the bolt going straight for the guy's head. But at the last second he moved, the bolt just scraping his neck instead of blowing his brains over the floor.

"No way," I whispered as he ran past me. No one could dodge that quickly, not with Raz shooting. I reached for him, but he was too fast. All I got for my troubles was him stepping on my fingers, nearly breaking them. Fucker. "AGGH!"

Raz was lining up another shot, but before he could fire the guy threw himself into the furnace. And then he was far beyond our ability to do anything.

He didn't make any noise. There should have been some cry, a howl of pain. But there wasn't. He was just completely silent as the fire ate him up, looking at me with eyes as dead as a doll's before the flames turned him to ash.

"What in the name of the Golden Throne just happened?"

{oOo}

"I tell ya, Raz," I said as I opened up a beer. We were at my apartment, a grand thing as only a bachelor's pad could be, getting ready to get some food in us. Raz was cooking, which was for the best. He had a better taste for it. I'm not bad, but that's because I stick with basic stuff. "Nothing about that made any sense at all."

"Short briefing," Raz responded as he took a small sip of beer. He winced a bit. I guess his palate had gotten used to the finer things back with his parents. Ah well, he'd get used to the cheap stuff again soon enough. He'd have to if he kept eating dinners with me. "So that was a plus."

"The media's still having a field day, though," I said before taking a swig. So much for me keeping a low profile. The Chief looked just about ready to tear out his hair. What little he had left, anyway. "I don't know how those guys pick up on all this so fast."

"It'll die down. There's only so much you can spin 'And then the crazy man jumped into the furnace.'"

"Yeah, about that," I said before Raz could really get going, shuddering a little as I thought again about the kidnapper's expression. "It still doesn't make any sense! I mean, what kind of ganger goes suicidal like that? It just doesn't fit."

Raz shrugged. "It might have been the drugs. Combat stims do crazy things if you overdose, after all."

"Maybe," I muttered. Raz had a point, not that it made me feel any better. "But something about this still feels off."

"Well, it's forensics' problem now. Not that they'll find much."

I was about to respond with a classy joke about our CSI team when there was a knock at my door. Probably someone from the press, or maybe one of the guys back at the office to heckle me or ask more questions. I got up and made my way over, wincing a little as I turned the knob. That bastard really did almost break my hand.

What I saw was not what I expected.

"Please, mister," a little girl, couldn't be more than twelve years old, asked me as she clutched her backpack to her chest. "You've got to help me!"

And it was then I knew things were going to get a lot more complicated.

{oOo}


	17. Shadows of the Light

{oOo}

**Shadows of the Light**

{oOo}

The room was dimly lit, the luminators cast at low settings to help conceal the people gathered in the underground chamber. It was a symbolic thing, really. Everyone in this room was a person of power, and they didn't get that power by being foolish enough to trust in the charity of others. Everyone knew who the other was, played their games in the dark as they attempted to accrue more and more wealth and strength.

The cavern itself was only half man-made, the other being carved naturally out of the tock over eons of natural forces. Further back water dribbled down in little waves over the stone, the quartz embedded in it shining like little stars in the twilight gloom.

They all spoke for a bit, each getting in touch with allies or feeling out rivals. But after a little while a man in a sharp, crisp military uniform strode down the stairs and to the table in the center of the cavern. So engrossed with their own conversations, no one noticed him till he slammed his hand on the table.

"Let's call this meeting to order!"

Mutters died as everyone sat down at their designated spots at the table. Several glared at the military man, while others simply looked bored. The military man took it all in stride, uncaring how these people thought of him so long as they followed orders and fell in line when they needed to.

Soon enough every was seated except for the man in the military fatigues. He paced around the front of the table, arms behind his back.

"Colonel Xaos," a voice picked up. It was a woman seated near the middle of the table. "I don't presume to impugn on your authority, but why are you here instead of the General?"

"I will be standing in for General Harrick today," Xaos responded. "The General is looking in on important assets. We may be requiring them soon."

"What do you mean?" asked an older man near the front.

"It seems we weren't as quiet with our plans as we thought. Our spies have reported the Imperium has discovered some of our agents and got them to talk." There was a gasp around the room, and mutters rose for several minutes before Xaos could quiet them again. "We have to assume the Inquisition knows at least some of our plot. And they're treating it seriously. We've gotten reports that assassins have landed on the planet. We think they've been here for weeks."

The murmurs came back explosively, this time at such volume that they echoed around the cavern, creating a tumultuous roar. Xaos slammed his hand on the table again and again, vainly trying to bring everything back to order.

As the chaos died down, one of the men near the end of the table took something out of his coat and began to fiddle with it. As Colonel Xaos regained control of the room he couldn't help but notice.

"Saxon, what are you doing?"

Saxon looked up briefly before returning to his work. "Oh? I'm just turning this thing on."

"Yes, I gathered that. What is it for?"

"The gas."

"What?"

"The gas," Saxon said again, looking up and giving Xaos an exasperated look right before he rolled the mechanical ball onto the table. It hissed as it went, quickly spreading a light fog all around. Several people in the room choked, grasping their throats in a vain attempt to force air into their lungs. The rest simply fell over, unconscious while the rest of the group died.

"I love it when they all drink the amasec at these things," Saxon said as his from shifted. Minutes later, where once sat a middle aged blonde man, now stood the black clad figure of a Callidus assassin.

She quickly went about the room, confirming the demise or unconsciousness of every body. That finished, she tapped a finger to where her ear rested beneath her mask.

"Chameleon to Wasp and Hawk. Those who have been marked for death are no more. Those who were marked for life sleep peacefully. No sign of primary target."

{oOo}

Miles away, a white clad man on a motorcycle heard the call. "Acknowledged. I pray for those sad souls who perished without feeling the grace of Serenity. May those who live be spared such a cruel fate."

_"Instead of paraphrasing scripture you should be keeping an eye on the General's car," _came a rough, male voice in the man's ear._ "If he wasn't at the meeting, he's definitely there and he's definitely heading for the docks."_

"I know, Hawk," Wasp responded. "But I can afford a moment of pity for those poor, unfortunate souls."

_"You do the pitying, I'll do the shooting. I'm almost in position."_

"Then I will see you there, my friend."

_"Not if I'm doing my job right."_

Wasp allowed himself a small smile at Hawk's banter, but he never once let his eyes leave the armored car racing down the road hundreds of feet in front of him. This was the first time the General had left his compound in weeks, and it was their best chance to get him and his mysterious cargo.

The assassin stayed a few hundred feet behind at all times, making sure to remain at such a distance to avoid suspicion. Genetically advanced eyes, no where near the degree of the Astartes but still far superior to human standard, easily kept the Chimera in sight. Further aided by the mixture of drugs in his system he missed not the slightest detail, which was why he could see the sudden shift in the driver's pattern.

"Something is wrong," he said over the comm bead.

_"You're right,"_ Chameleon responded. _"Xaos had a device hooked to his heart. It looks like it was designed to send a signal if it ever stopped beating. Harrick knows we've made our move."_

_"Paranoia always pays off in the end,"_ Hawk quipped. _"At least until I put a bullet between the man's eyes."_

"Nothing has changed," Wasp whispered calmly, increasing his acceleration to keep the Chimera in view. "All must be brought to Serenity. For only then will man know peace."

The Chimera blasted down the roads of the hive, making its way toward the docks at ludicrous speeds. Civilians moved out of the way quickly or were batted aside by its bulk, leaving behind confused and angry people all along its route.

Twenty minutes later the military vehicle skidded to a stop at the docks, coming to rest in front of a large cargo transporter. The back of it opened, the ramp setting down as an older man in a crisp military uniform walked while surrounded by several armed soldiers.

Harrick's face was roiling like a storm, and it only got worse when he saw Wasp slide to a stop near by. Scowling, he positioned himself and his men near the Chimera as the assassin walked over, stopping just thirty feet away.

"Well, and here I thought you assassins were supposed to be subtle."

"There are times for subtlety and there are times when the voices of the righteous must cry out. This is one of those times."

Harrick narrowed his eyes. "Fanatic," he whispered, confident in his position with ten men between him and his pursuer.

"General Harrick, you are charged with treason against the Imperium and the Emperor you swore to serve. Your dealings with the Tau have placed the planet Talthos at extreme risk of annexation by foreign powers. Surrender or die."

The General smirked. "I don't think so."

_"The bastard is hiding behind the Chimera. I can't get a shot."_

"Shall I draw him out?" Wasp whispered into the comm bead.

_"No need. I see another opportunity. Hang tight."_

"The famed Eversor assassins," Harrick called out. "My, how you've fallen. The furious berserkers regressed into something so pitiful. You lot were a true nightmare back during the Age of Heresy, so the legends say. It's a disgrace what you've turned into now, just like this whole damn Imperium is a disgrace."

"Let not the words of the ignorant raise your ire," Wasp intoned softly to himself. "For they know not what they speak. It is simply wind and noise, without meaning or substance."

Harrick's face contorted in rage, purpling as his lips drew back in a snarl. "Enough of this. Men, kill this zealot."

_"Firing."_

Neither Wasp nor the General heard the shot, the bullet fired miles away through the powerful barrel of the Vindicaire's rifle. Nor did they hear the whizzing of the bullet as it careened through the air.

They did, however, hear the chain snap on the crane carrying cargo overhead as the bullet smashed through it.

_"One shot is all I need."_

Harrick was running even as he looked up at the falling container, shock painting hi features. Several tons of metal and plastic achieved terminal velocity in seconds, smashing into the Chimera with enough force to crush it flat, along with most of the men in the General's entourage. Of the original ten, only four had managed to escape being crushed.

Wasp was already moving even as the container fell, dashing toward the impact zone at inhuman speed, the drugs in his system shifting to allow increased stamina and muscle output. One hand whipped to left, the lasweapon embedded on his gauntlet firing a single shot between the eyes of one of the disoriented soldiers. He ducked, swiftly dodging the return fire and struck out with his other hand, hitting another enemy. The needle tipped claw dipped lightly into the man's flesh, and in an instant he fell to the ground, his body flooded with a toxin designed to bring swift and painless death.

"Fuck this!" one of the soldiers screamed, his nerve broken. He turned to run, and so did not see the hands coming behind him as the Eversor snapped his neck, the assassin's drug enhanced strength easily breaking bone.

The final soldier, shaking and barely standing, aimed his lasgun at Wasp with trembling hands. The Eversor turned to him, a sad smile on his face as the wind rustled his hood and the short black hair beneath it. He walked over slowly, his arms at his sides.

The soldier dropped his gun and fell to his knees, closing his eyes.

"Will it hurt?" he whispered as Wasp stood over him.

"No," Wasp said just as quietly, pricking him lightly with his needled claw. The young man fell over, his eyes still closed as if in the gentle embrace of sleep as Wasp set him gently to the ground.

_"Harrick ran into the ship. I couldn't get a bead on him with all the dust kicked up."_

"I shall find him."

"No need!" a loud voice rang out, amplified by a vox unit. Wasp jumped to the side as Harrick landed, his body encased in a huge suit of artificer armor.

The General followed up with a round of bolter fire, forcing Wasp to dodge with all the speed his modified body allowed. Harrick laughed as the Eversor zigged and zagged around the wreck where the Chimera used to be. He laughed harder when Wasp returned fire with his gauntlet's lasgun, the energy dispersing harmlessly across the ceramite of the powered armor.

"Do you know what you've cost me?" Harrick roared. "Do you! Countless funds, decades of work, and then you come to take it away from me? I won't have it!"

The General charged, tackling the assassin. Wasp grunted as he felt a few of his ribs crack, pain blurring his vision before the drugs kicked in and dulled the ache. No amount of drugs, however, could help him as Harrick closed his fist around the assassin's throat.

"If I'm going to die, I'm going to take you with me!" the General cried, hysteria bleeding into his voice. "I won't fall alone!"

He squeezed harder, laughing as Wasp clawed vainly at the ceramite hand crushing his windpipe. He did it slowly, drawing it out. The armor was far too thick for the assassin's gauntlet to pierce, and Harrick knew it. He knew it just as he knew the sniper couldn't get a clear shot at him through the wreckage to save his ally. He knew he was going to make this man pay for ruining his plans, for dashing the dreams of power and glory he'd worked so hard for.

Which was why he was so surprised at what happened next.

"I'm sorry," Wasp whispered. Striking faster than even his armor's helmet could perceive, Wasp punched with his left hand. Harrick opened his mouth to laugh again, but as soon as he did so he choked back a scream.

The power knife burst from Wasp's gauntlet just inches before his fist impacted the armor, the disruption field parting the ceramite like wax. The blade cut in deeply, and when the Eversor pulled it free a crimson tide erupted from the hole in the chest plate. The General dropped him, clawing at his chest before toppling over with a resounding thud.

Wasp gasped for breath, the rush of oxygen even more potent than the painkillers rushing through his system from the drug dispensers implanted in the armor beneath his clothes. His legs shook a little as he walked to the fallen General, but steadied as he pulled the man's helmet off.

"I cannot grant you the light of Serenity," he said as he stared into Harrick's fading eyes, the man's breath coming in wet gurgles as he vainly held on to life. "But I will at least allow you a swift death. Go in peace."

The needles went into his neck gently, and in seconds he General's struggles ceased.

_"You all right?"_ Hawk asked through the comm.

"Yes," Wasp said softly as he stood up. "Primary target has been silenced."

_"I'm cleaning up here,"_ Chameleon called. _"I'll join up with you when I'm finished."_

Wasp nodded. "Acknowledged. I'll check the ship. We need to make sure there aren't any more surprises waiting for us."

No one stopped him as he walked up the ramp into the giant cargo hauler. The docks had been mostly cleared before the fighting had even started, and the rest had run when the shooting began. With nothing to get in his way Wasp made quick time to the main hold.

What he saw shocked him.

"By Serenity's light…" he whispered.

_"What is it?"_ Hawk asked.

Wasp rested his hand on the cold surface of he stasis pod, one of thirty that dominated the vast space usually set aside for transporting machine parts from one end of the planet to the other. His face was wracked with sadness as he looked upon the label etched into the metal.

**EVERSOR UNIT XVIII**

"Old brothers," he whispered. "Trapped in their madness before Serenity showed her light to the temple after the Heresy. Sleeping all this time."

_"You mean?"_

"Yes. Harrick found the old Eversors. The lost ones."

Wasp closed his eyes rested his head against the pod, as if trying to comfort the one frozen deep within.

"Don't worry, brothers. You're safe now. We'll help you. We'll help all of you."

He raised his head.

"Until then, sweet dreams."

{oOo}


	18. Into the Light

{oOo}

Magos Harmon passed around his office, almost tearing what little remained of his hair out in frustration. Illogical, yes, but this situation was anything but logical. He turned to the doors to his office, thick metal things designed to take rocket fire. He knew they wouldn't be strong enough.

"How in the name of the Omnissiah did this happen!" he cried aloud. He turned to his companion, Varrick. "You're sure it's her?"

"Positive," Varrick responded. As ever, the Temple official was the epitome of composure and calm. "We figure the failed attempt by one of the traitor assassins is what drew her attention. I sent out Faletta to delay her, but apparently she's having nothing of it. Last report said she was heading straight here."

Harmon groaned, an interesting sound from one who had replaced his lungs for a respirator years ago. "This is a disaster!"

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the doors slammed open, the lock broke with a clang, falling to the floor as the heavy doors embedded themselves in the thick rockrete walls. Harmon cried out and stumbled back, nearly falling over his desk.

There, clad in pristine white, was Princess Serenity. The heir of the Imperium was as statuesque as she always was, a stunning example of the power of the Imperium of Man. She was radiant. She was magnificent and beautiful.

And she was enraged.

Her face was set in a scowl, her eyes narrowed dangerously. She approached the Magos, who by now had collapsed on his desk. With one hand she lifted him up to face her eyes. Despite half his brain being replaced with electronics, he blanked out. He couldn't think of anything under the terror he felt coursing through every fiber of his being.

"Where are they?" she asked in a quiet, dangerous voice. She pulled Harmon closer. Nothing existed except for her face, set in an expression of anger so unlike anything he had seen gracing her features. He could only let out a small gasp in response.

"My lady!" came a voice from behind her, Faletta catching up finally. Serenity turned to her, and Harmon finally felt that he could think again. "My lady, please! There is no need for this!"

"There is all the need for this," Serenity growled. She looked back to the Magos, who had only just regained some measure of composure. "Take me to them."

"Who, my liege?"

Her scowl grew deeper. "Do not be coy with me, Magos. You know exactly who I am talking about. This is not a request. Take me to them!"

She hadn't raised her voice, but Harmon trembled all as if she had screamed at him. He felt weak in the knees when she released him, which considering they were augmetic was truly surprising. He didn't have much time to note this, however, for the look in the Princess' eyes brooked no delay or argument. Swiftly he rushed down the hall, Serenity just a step behind him. Varrick and Faletta trailed in her wake, nervously glancing at each other as they went down the hall toward the stairs that led to the lower compartments.

They made their way down, ever down, into the cold and the dark. Their breath came out as mist, and Varrick began wishing very much he had a coat. He wasn't augmented like Faletta or Harmon, not being a member of the Mechanicus and instead working for the Temple in other ways. The Princess, of course, didn't seem to feel the cold at all.

Eventually they came upon a thick set of adamantium doors. A keypad rested in the wall at the side, as well as an optic scanner. Serenity nodded to the Magos, and he complied readily, punching in a long series of keys before resting his face by the scanner. There was a flash of light as it confirmed his retinal patterns, and the door opened.

It was a vast chamber, reaching far and wide into the rock where the temple had been built. There were rows upon rows of pods stretching into that vastness, hundreds of them. Possibly even thousands. Serenity hissed in shock.

"So many?" she whispered. "There are so many of them."

"Yes, your Majesty," Varrick said, stepping beside Harmon. He put a hand on the man's shoulder, the one that wasn't augmetic, and gave a comforting squeeze. Harmon glanced at him briefly, a flash of gratitude touching his eyes before he turned his focus back to the Princess. "As many as are needed."

"And they are always here?" Serenity asked as she stepped closer to one of the pods, looking within the frosted armorcrys window on the front. The label on the pod read EVERSOR UNIT XXXVI. "Sleeping when not sent out in drug induced madness?"

Her voice was bitter at the end, harsh. Varrick tensed a bit, and he could feel Harmon wilting a little beside him. Faletta, for her part, stayed near the door away from them all. The Temple official was beginning to think she had the right idea.

"With all due respect, your majesty, this place is needed." He paused to swallow when she turned to look at him, but continued regardless. "We kept it secret, yes, but only so we could do what must be done without tainting you or your family with this gruesome business! Diplomacy and force of arms will not win all battles! We have saved countless human lives with our work! And if the few must suffer for the many, then so be it. I am proud of what we've done here."

"Proud," Serenity said softly. She rested a hand on the pod's door, mulling over Varrick's words. "You are proud of what you have done to these people."

In one sudden motion, before anyone could react, she wrenched the door off.

"My lady!" Faletta shrieked. "What are you doing?"

Serenity did not respond, her eyes set only on the man who was slowly regaining consciousness within the confines of his motionless prison. He twitched as the stasis field shut off, reality rapidly coming back into focus.

And then he screamed, a blood curdling sound of rage and madness. It reverberated and echoed throughout the chamber, slamming into their ears like a physical thing. And as he screamed, he moved, lunging for Serenity with one clawed talon. Varrick cursed as Harmon screamed, and his hand shot toward his sidearm, his motion halting only when the daughter of the Emperor moved.

The Princess caught the strike easily, her arm coming up even faster than the Eversor's drug enhanced speed, holding the man's hand at the wrist. He roared and struck with his other hand, but she caught it as well. He pushed and pulled, trying desperately to break free and attack. But nothing he did could break her hold. She was a rock, a bastion that remained unmoved by fury and madness and noise. He snarled and screeched, but all she did was stare at him impassively, her eyes glowing slightly.

After several minutes, the man's struggles slowed. Several minutes more, they ceased entirely. He simply stood there, panting heavily. His head whipped around, as if he was trying to look in all directions at once through his horrible skull helmet. And then, finally, he wailed again.

Only this time it was a sob.

The man fell to his knees, the Princess' hands holding his wrists being only thing keeping him upright. She moved with him, embracing him and holding him close as he cried. And, after a moment, the wordless crying took on words.

"Hurts… Hurts so much… Make it stop. Please, make it stop."

The Emperor's daughter hugged him tighter, making comforting sounds as she stroked his back. Gently, she took off the helmet, revealing a pale, scar-ridden face. His brown eyes trailed tears, and he looked into Serenity's own as he cried.

"Let me die," he whispered. "Please… Let me die. Make it stop."

"It will stop," she said softly, holding him close again. She rested a hand on the back on his hairless head. "For now, sleep, and may your dreams be of peace."

The man's eyes rolled up, unconsciousness coming swiftly, and she gently set him down. Finished, she stood up and glared at Varrick and Harmon, who were still standing dumbstruck by the entire ordeal. Her eyes still shone, but in anger instead of her power.

"Do you still feel proud, Varrick, for what you have done to these people?" She waved an arm to take in the whole room. "For breaking these men and women? Turning them into beasts? Subjecting them to so much pain that their only refuge is the madness you give to them?"

The Temple official opened his mouth, but he couldn't find anything to say.

"This place might be necessary," Serenity continued. "But these methods are not. There will be changes. I promise you that. When all is said and done, there will be changes."

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving the three of them alone in chamber filled with their work, the people they had created. Men and women they had destroyed, changed into almost perfect killing machines. Monsters locked in madness, designed to rend and destroy everything that got in their way.

And they felt cold.

{oOo}


	19. The Imperium Never Sleeps II

{oOo}

THE IMPERIUM NEVER SLEEPS

_THINGS GET COMPLICATED_

{oOo}

I kneeled down to the little girl, bringing myself to eye level with her. She was sniffling, on the edge of tears. Combine that with her little brown pigtails and freckled cheeks she looked like one of the most adorable things I'd ever seen. The problem was that I'd never seen her before in my apartment complex, and I knew pretty much everyone. I didn't live in a rough part of the Hive, to be sure, but it still wasn't a place for little girls to wander about all alone.

"Hey," I said, fumbling over anything else to say in response to the girl's plea for help. That's me, the epitome of class. "Do your parents know where you are?"

"No," she whispered, rubbing at her eyes a little and clutching her backpack tighter with her free hand. I was about to tell her I should call them when she interrupted me, almost like she knew what I was going to say. "Please don't tell them where I am! They're… they can't know! Bad things will happen."

Her eyes were wide with fear, and she was starting to hyperventilate. She was absolutely terrified at the idea of seeing her parents, and her voice was laced with such desperation in her voice that my eyes narrowed on reflex. There are only a few things that will make a kid that scared of her family, and none of it was good. She didn't seem to have any bruises or scars, but it was possible they were just hidden where they wouldn't show.

"Come on inside, sweetie," I said softly, trying to be as gentle as possible. If she was a victim of abuse I was going to have to handle this carefully. "What's your name? A big girl like you has to have a big girl name, right?"

"Gracia," she said as I led her inside, quiet as a mouse.

"That's a nice name, Gracia. I'll see about getting you some juice, okay? And then we can talk all about it."

The little girl nodded, sniffling again as directed her. I led her to the kitchen, where Raz was still working some of his magic at my stove. He blinked at the little girl before focusing on her, and then his eyes widened. The little girl, in response, just looked up at Raz and smiled.

"You're really pretty," she said shyly, hiding a little behind her backpack as she looked up at him. Whatever Raz had been about to say died as I laughed, a full belly thing that had me clutching my stomach. Raz glared at me, but that just made me laugh more.

"Oh man Raz," I said as I got some breath back. "You're just a hit with human girls."

Raz shot me a dirty look, no doubt remembering all the times I'd ragged him about Maria before he'd pretty much demanded we never speak of her again. Well, tough. This was just too damn funny.

Ignoring my partner's glare, I reached my fridge and looked for anything I could give her that was appropriate. Most of it wasn't, considering the amount of beer I kept. So I pulled out some milk and poured her a little.

Her face fell a little at the sight of it, and she pursed her lips in a cute show of childish indignation. "This isn't juice."

I just smiled. "Sorry darling, fresh out. I'll get you some later."

That seemed to be acceptable, so she took the milk and sipped on it while I pulled Raz to the side. I made sure we were out of earshot as I pulled my friend close.

"Raz, I think we might have an abuse case here." He looked at me strangely, so I elaborated. "When she came in she all but screamed that I don't call her parents. She was scared stiff, and not like a kid worried about getting a time out. There're only a few things that could mean."

"It might be worse than you know," Raz whispered back. "Zen, she's a psyker. I could tell as soon as I laid eyes on her. And she's strong."

I blinked. "She's a psyker? How strong are we talking here?"

"Stronger than me, and this is doubtlessly without training."

"Oh…"

"When was the last time your Imperium's ships came by to check the population?"

I had to do a little calculation in my head to get the date. It was a while ago, and despite how I grumble I'm not that old. Don't let the aches and pains fool you. "About thirteen years ago. Would have just missed her."

Raz nodded. "Then we have to be careful. It's very likely her powers are just coming in, and if her family has been abusing her it could get very bad, very fast."

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to gather my thoughts. "Okay, so we take it easy and make sure not to scare her. We feed her and wait till she's asleep to contact someone. There're trained professionals who can handle this. We're out of our depth here."

He nodded, and we both came back over to her. She'd finished her milk, still clutching her backpack close. I could make out a faint gurgling sound, and she squirmed uncomfortably. I guess in her fright she'd gotten herself hungry and then forgot about it. I kneeled down and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey Sweetie. Are you hungry? My friend Raz is cooking up something nice right now. We can get you something yummy in just a few…"

"I know what you were saying," she interrupted me, looking me straight in the eyes. She was scared and trying to not look like she was. It would have been one of the most precious things I'd ever seen if it hadn't spooked me a little bit. "In the other room. I heard you. You thought you were quiet, but I heard you."

Okay, more than a little spooked. She'd heard everything we'd said, and we'd been whispering so quietly we had barely heard each other! It was honestly a little freaky, though I didn't let it show on my face.

And then the tears came, great, big child tears with snot running down her nose and full body shaking sobs. She squeezed her pack like it was a lifeline, and all my fear evaporated in the face of this scared little girl who was looking for help.

"I could hear you, but I shouldn't have! And there are all these whispers in my head, and I see things that aren't there and I know they should be but they aren't! I'm a… A freak! They're gonna take me away and…"

I cut her off with a hug, holding her gently but firmly in my arms.

"No one thinks that, darling. No one. You're not a freak. You're safe here."

She clutched at my shoulder and rubbed her tears into my shirt, bawling and screaming with the kind of force only children have. She cried for half an hour just like that, and before I knew it Raz was by my side lending his support. His hug was awkward and light, but he offered it. Hah! And he tries to act all cool. A big softy, that's what he was. Gracia shifted her weight between us, her shaking growing less and less until it was just the occasional shudder.

"I want my mommy and daddy," she sniffled, rubbing at her nose and eyes. "I want my big brother."

I patted her on the back, saying soothing words. This was a horrible, unfair thing for a child to have to experience. If there was any justice in the world she would have lived a peaceful, normal life instead of having to deal with all the pain being a psyker meant. It made me angry, a little girl having to go through this. But what she said next made my gut wrench like someone had stabbed it with ice.

"But they're scary now. They feel different," she was working herself up again, quite possibly in response my own fear but I couldn't stop my reaction as she continued. "They look the same and act the same, but they're not! They don't sound the same! There's something else there! There's something big and scary and it's pretending to be them and it's not and I want them back! Give them back!"

"Gracia," I said slowly and calmly, trying to keep the growing horror out of my eyes. I glanced at Raz, and I could see the same kernel of thought blooming behind his own. "What exactly do you mean?"

"They don't sound the same," she said again. I leaned back and gave her some room, Raz doing the same on her opposite side. "Everyone has a sound, and theirs is different. It's scary."

Oh… oh shit. This was not good. This was so very not good. I had to struggle to get a hold of myself, because if what she was saying meant what I thought it did my home was going to have bigger problems than just simple hate crime. Bigger and potentially world ending, if my fears were true.

"When did this happen, Gracia?" Raz said, collecting himself quicker.

"Big brother came in two weeks ago. He sounded different then," she began, her voice hollow. She'd cried herself out by this point. "He took daddy somewhere, he said it was a cool place where they could hang out. But when daddy came back he sounded different too. He took mommy with him a few days later, and I had to leave. But I didn't know where to go. And then I heard another sound, pretty sounds. And they led me here." She looked at me with wide, hopeful eyes. "You can help me! Because… because I think something really bad is going to happen."

"Gracia, sweetie," I began, swallowing a little to get the moisture in. "Could you tell us what your brother looks like?"

She dug into her bag and pulled out a pict book, like some families have when they feel like doing things the old fashioned way. You know, to make the experience extra special. I'd never really gotten it, myself, but I've never been accused of an abundance of poetry in my soul.

"Here he is," she said as she pointed him out, and the final straw fell. There, in crisp detail, was the man who had charged headlong into the furnace earlier today.

{oOo}

"Deckard," the Chief said as he looked at me from across his desk. I had rushed back to the station after Raz and I coaxed a little more information out of Gracia, which meant it was getting on in the evening. The Chief looked tired, and probably wanted nothing more than to go home. But he's the boss, and that meant he got the long hours. "Do you actually mean to tell me there's a Chaos cult on planet actively summoning daemons?"

He looked at me skeptically, and I couldn't blame him. This wasn't the kind of thing you tossed around casually. My rather colorful reputation certainly didn't help matters either.

Again, no one appreciates me.

"Yes sir," I said stoically, not letting my frustration bleed through into my tone. In all honesty I wanted to curse up a storm at the man, but he didn't it and it wouldn't help anything. So I just powered through it, all grace and charm. "Just like I told you the last two times."

Okay, my grace and charm needs work.

"Just needed to hear it again," he said back as he pulled out a decanter of something amber and almost certainly alcoholic. He poured it into a glass and took a swig from it. "Deckard, do you know the likelihood of a cult actually summoning a daemon, let alone multiple ones?"

"It's slim chances, sir. I know that. But I've got a psychically active young girl back at my apartment who says she felt her family change over the course of weeks. It all fits with what we know of daemon hosts, Chief."

My superior took another swig of his drink, looking into it for a about a minute before locking eyes with me. Damn, but he looked tired. The latest upswing in hate crimes had been taking its toll on everyone, but I hadn't stopped to think about how many people the Chief was having to deal with to assure them we were actually dealing with the problem.

"I got a call a few hours ago," he said finally. "From the Governor. She told me the problem with the hate crimes has reached ears very high up, and they're sending an observer to take stock of the situation and decide whether or not intervention is necessary."

Oh dear… that didn't sound good at all.

"How high up are we talking?"

"They like to wear gold and silver," the Chief said with no small amount of snark. "And have lots of statues all over the galaxy."

"The Royal Family!" I said with a death grip on my chair arms. This was so very not good. Sometimes I hated being right. "The Royal Family is sending an observer?"

"That's what I said. He'll be here in about a month, which I thought would be enough time to put a dent in the problem. But then you give me this suspicion of Chaos cults…" he sighed and finished his drink, pinching his nose a little before continuing. "How sure can you be of this girl? You're sure she's psychic?"

"Yes sir. Raz checked her out, and he says there's no taint of Chaos on her that he could see."

"That's enough to at least start an investigation," the Chief muttered. "All right. Deckard, take her into protective custody. I don't want anything that we haven't vetted getting anywhere near this girl. We're gonna nip this in the bud before it can get out of hand, and at the first sign of daemonic activity we're calling in the Guard. I'm not having any chance of a Chaos incursion on my watch."

I nodded and made my way out, leaving the Chief to his alcohol and no doubt growing headache. I felt for him. Being in charge of the Arbitrators for any world was difficult, but being the chief for Samson IV must have been a nightmare. Hell, I knew I wouldn't want it.

I made my way outside and toward my car. I had to park a little ways away from my usual spot since this wasn't my shift, but a little walking never killed anyone.

The main office had a number of landing pads on various levels for air cars. I usually parked near the top, but since those were all taken I'd had to make do with somewhere near the middle. Which meant about five minutes in a boring elevator ride. Joy.

I punched in my floor and set myself for waiting. Emperor and Serenity, I hated these things. They took so damn long! To pass the time I pulled out a personal vox so I could tell Raz the news. That's when the elevator stopped, the light indicating someone else needed to get on.

_Just bloody perfect,_ I thought to myself, knowing this would add a good two, or three minutes to my trip. Hey, I'm not patient and I never said I wasn't petty. I made enough of these kinds of trips every day; I reserved the right to be sick of them.

The man who stepped on was someone I'd only ever seen in passing whenever I made my way through the astonishingly tall Arbitrator's headquarters. He was shorter than me, but built heavier. His hair had seen better days, and from the looks of it he enjoyed good food and drink. He wasn't obese by any means, but he had a paunch.

He also had a combat shotgun aimed right at me.

"Holy shit!" was about all I could say before ducking down, barely getting away from the full spray of the weapon. A few pellets managed to clip my shoulder as I ducked to the side, making me indulge in some of my more colorful language as I smashed my communicator across his face. The man stumbled, and I kept up my momentum. I pushed hard, one hand knocking the shotgun away while the other locked around his throat.

With more luck than skill I managed to get his weapon out of his hand, but I wasn't able to press my advantage for long. With both hands he grabbed the grip I had around his neck, pulling me off with inhuman strength. Then he flipped me into the air.

It's a unique experience, flying through the air. I've had the misfortune of such things several times in my career, and you never quite get used to them. For the first three seconds you could almost call it pleasant.

And then you hit the ground, and you're reminded you're fighting for your life. I rolled to the side as he jumped into the air, going so high he almost hitting he ceiling seven feet above us. I made it, barely. He hit the ground with far more force than he should have. Golden Throne, I thought I could see cracks made in the rockcrete! Who the hell was this guy?

And then my luck changed, because I rolled right on top of the shotgun.

I got to my feet just as he charged for me again, right in time to take the full force of the pellet spray straight to the face. At that range, no more than two feet away, his head exploded in a fountain of blood and bone. A lot of which landed on my clothes.

"Dammit!" I cursed, not sure if I meant the attack or my now ruined outfit. I was confused as all get out by that point. Soon enough I heard footsteps running down the hall, which made me feel better. I held the shotgun to the side, making sure I wasn't holding a threatening posture, as two more Arbitrators showed up.

"I know what this looks like," I said quickly. "But just let me explain. He attacked me…"

Which was as much as I could get out before the pulled laspistols on me and started firing.

"Son of a bitch!" I roared, getting off a shot with my purloined shotgun before rolling again. The good news was I took one of them in the chest, turning it into a bloody crater. The bad news was I rolled on my wounded shoulder, almost making me black out from the pain.

That's what I get for showing off. Dammit, Mat! You've got to stop trying to be fancy!

For a few seconds there it was all I could do to stay conscious. But a few seconds can mean the difference between life and death. I knew this only too well, but I was getting a refresher course when the last bad guy standing lifted me up by my throat. There's nothing quite like a sudden, powerful urge to breathe to remind you what five seconds can mean in a fight.

He easily wrenched the shotgun out of my hands before putting his full attention on strangling me. I clawed at him, trying desperately to get free. But his grip was like a steel vice, holding me as easily as a grown man might a child. I'd like to think I gave him a defiant expression as he choked the life out of me, but from the way he smiled with all too pointed teeth, I'm pretty sure the stark terror I was feeling was apparent all over my face. But his smile was an afterthought. I was far too focused on the man's eyes, his horrible, soulless eyes. Eyes like the ones on those gangers earlier today.

It was getting harder to think, but as I did I remembered something important. I would have kicked myself for forgetting it if I wasn't so damned relieved that it came to mind before this bastard killed me.

My hands shaking, I pulled my laspistol free and shot him in the stomach. He stumbled, his grip slackening enough for me to gasp a few precious breaths of air before I shot him again, this time in the chest. He let go completely, his torso blown apart into two charred holes, and I wasted no time. My next shot hit him right between the eyes, pulping his skull into mush.

For a few moments breathing was all I could do, happy that I could get sweet, delicious oxygen into my lungs. It was such a relief to be alive, and discovering that you're not going to die in the next two minutes is more intoxicating than any drug. You can take my word on that. But as my adrenaline went down two thoughts occurred to me, horrible, blood-chilling thoughts.

The enemy had infiltrated the Arbitrators, and they knew I was on to them.

"Raz!" I muttered, my voice still hoarse from the beating my throat had taken. I looked around for my vox unit, but it was smashed to pieces from its trip into my enemy's face. I had to warn him! If they knew about me, they knew about him also! And that could put Gracia in danger!

"And lo," I muttered under my breath as I rushed back to the elevator. I had to get back home, get to the vox in my car and get in contact with Raz! It was the only thing I had that I could be sure wasn't bugged by the enemy. "Serenity looked upon the broken and mangled bodies of the youth, and she wept. Her tears carried forth her power, and she mended their flesh and brought them to health. And as she embraced them she proclaimed 'Never again shall a child be harmed.' And all who served her knew this to be law."

I wasn't the most religious of people. That was for sure. But I was loyal, dammit! If there's one thing I knew it was the Silver Rule of Serenity. I was a rude, cynical scoundrel. Just ask anyone. I lived in the moment and got by day to day. But I held that rule near to my heart. If Gracia was hurt, I would never forgive myself. I had to make it in time! And if I was too late…

If I was too late I would make all of them pay.

{oOo}


	20. Mind of the Swarm

{oOo}

_**Mind of the Swarm**_

{oOo}

The Inquisitor Carlos Zavier, of the Alien Relations Branch, stood next to his friend, the Eldar Eirick Lan'scher, as they met with Roboute Guilliman in his briefing room. The Primarch was troubled by what had occurred so far, entire planets being stripped of all life down to the topsoil would shake even the hardiest of souls. He would have preferred to handle it on his own, but this mysterious new threat was too large, and they had too little information, for them to tackle it alone. He knew that, and would not allow his feelings to impede the neutralization of this foe. Excessive pride was dangerous.

After all, it had damned two of his brothers.

"Gentlemen," the Primarch began. "You tell me that you've felt a whispering in the Eastern Fringe? I know you are a powerful Psyker, Inquisitor Zavier, but can you really give me information on this unknown enemy even at this distance?"

The bald man nodded. "It is precisely because we are this far away that we might be able to do so. My Lord Guilliman, I don't believe you quite understand the vastness of this thing we're dealing with."

The Primarch frowned. "Explain."

It was the Eldar who answered, his arms settling behind his back. The posture reminded Guilliman of a teacher addressing a student, though there was no disrespect in either it or his tone. "There is a single, gigantic will out there directing these attacks. Carlos and I both felt it as we approached Ultramar. I fear that if we were any closer than we are now, trying to breach the defenses of this mind would overwhelm us."

Guilliman nodded. "I see. Well then, please make the attempt."

Eirick turned to his friend, placing a hand on the Inquisitor's hairless head. "I will pull you back if you falter on your way, old friend."

Carlos smiled and closed his eyes, concentrating on his power. He reached across the distance to the shadow that he could 'see' even this far away. It was massive, alien in every way. He had done battle with Daemons before, and with renegade Pyskers, but this thing was something else again. How could anything be so huge? It was beyond comprehension, and Carlos suddenly felt akin to a speck of dust floating in the wind.

Tentatively, he touched the smallest portion of it that he could manage.

Immediately, he began to convulse. Eirick gripped his shoulder with his free hand, struggling to keep his other on Carlos's head and trying to keep him steady. Blood poured from Carlos's ears and eyes, and he screamed. The sound was blood curdling, and Guilliman himself was taken aback by the force behind it. The man's voice was being torn raw with just how loud it was, like the Inquisitor was being ripped apart from the inside out. He strode forward to aid Eirick, and as he did so the screaming took on words.

_**"EAT! BREED! MOVE! EAT! BREED! MOVE! EATBREEDMOVEEATBREEDMOVEEATB REEDMOVEEATBREEDMOVEEATBREED MOVE!"**_

"Carlos!" Eirick roared over his friend's agony, eyes flashing so bright they almost hid his face. He grit his teeth as if struggling with some kind of beastial monster, and crystalline blood pooled from his gums from how hard he clenched his jaws. With a flash of psychic lightning, the thunder of it shattering all the glass in the room, Carlos finally stopped his tormented wail. Guilliman grabbed the trembling Inquisitor and held him steady as he slumped into his arms like a boneless doll.

Shaking, his face covered in sweat, Eirick touched his friend again. He breathed a sigh of relief, idly moving his free hand to push back some of his stark white hair.

"Is he alive?" Guilliman asked.

"Yes. Shaken, almost broken, but alive. He touched the tiniest portion of this thing, and it almost drove him beyond what I could pull him back from. He will require days of sleep at the very least, and then weeks of rest. But at least we've learned what these creatures are after."

"Indeed," the Primarch said as he picked up Carlos as gently as he would a child. "They seek to consume us all."

{oOo}


	21. Deff Skwadron

{oOo}

_Deff Skwadron _in

**DA GREAT BOMB DROP**

{oOo}

Let me tell you a story. Now, it isn't one of those stories about heroism and sacrifice. It isn't one of those lovey dovey, mushy things Humies seem so fond of either. No, this is a right and proper story about blood and shooting and punching gits in the face. And it starts, as these so often do, with one boy yelling at another boy.

"UZGOB!" came the roaring voice of our Boss, Badthug. The Boss was on a short temper, more so than usual. And that's saying something, considering he usually went off on just about anything. But he was the biggest, so he was the Boss. It's just the way of things. "Uzgob, ya lazy git! Getcher arse out ere!"

You see, we'd been having a good old scrap with another Boss on the other side of the planet. A right old cuss by the name of Grimzug who was under the impression he could throw his weight around while Boss Badthug stood near by. Something Badthug, being the model of a self respecting Ork, wouldn't tolerate.

The Bosses had met during a celebration to Gork and Mork, and while they were drinking Grimzug had said the name of the planet we were on was Morken. But Badthug, and all us boys under him, knew it was called Gorkill. Grimzug, being a boy with his head up his arse, wouldn't change his mind and called Badthug a stupid Gretchin lover. Well, Badthug wasn't having any of that. So, in the face of such outright gittish behavior, a right proper Waagghh had begun.

The problem was, Badthug wasn't winning it.

"Uzgob," Badthug shouted again from outside where we'd set up shop in the camp. "If yer not out ere in da next minute, Ah'm gonna tear off yer legs and stuff em up yer arse!"

"Comin, Boss!" Uzgob said as we all rushed out, dropping the tools we were using to give our planes some touching up. We're no Mek Boyz, true, but no Ork in Deff Skwadron would ever fly something he hadn't personalized a little. It just wasn't proper. "Jus getting da boirds all tuned up an such!"

"What ya tink ya are, a bloody Mekboy! Stop muckin about!" He gave Uzgob a smack, sending him flying and through the wall of the hangar. "Ya comes when ah calls ya. Remember dat!"

"Yes, Boss," Uzgob said from under the pile of scrap metal he was under.

"Now pick yerself up! Got a mission fer ya."

Boss Badthug took us over to his planning station, and oddly enough his bad temper starting to disappear. He smiled a big, toothy smile and batted Uzgob on the back like he hadn't just knocked him through a wall about five minutes ago. Of course, Badthug might have just not remembered. The Boss never did think much on what was already done.

"Izgib, me old boy," he began, mangling Uzgob's name again. Badthug never could remember it when he wasn't madder than three squigs with one piece of meat between them. "Ah've got me somthin dat'll turn dis whole scrap around. An I need Deff Skwadron ta deliver it fer me."

"Of course, Boss. Whatcha need doin an 'ho needs sqaushin?"

"Dat git Grimzug, a course! What Waagghh 'ave ya been fightin? Now, stop wit da dumbarse questions an listen up."

He pointed to one of our Mek Boys fiddling with some contraption. It looked like a bomb, though it had a lot more bits to it than any bomb I'd ever seen before. The Mek Boy looked back at us with a grin full of metal and gave the thing one last wrench.

"Ready ta go, Boss! Dis'll send Grimzug a right bloody headache, no mistake!"

"Good," Badthug responded, looking the thing over. Now, he couldn't actually make heads or tails of it I'm sure, but it was what Bosses do so that's what Badthug did. He poked it, grunted and poked it again.

"Good work."

"Uh, Boss?" Uzgob interrupted. "Wot exactly does dat ting do?"

"Dis, my dear Exgab," he said as he gave the thing a little slap. "Iz a warp bomb. When it blows, it'll bring da Warp here, and den send it back takin 'im wit it. Serves da git right."

"Oh wow, Boss. 'ow did ya manage ta cook dis up?"

"Twasn't so 'ard. I jus went ta da Mek Boys an said 'Wot would appen if we stuck a bunch of Weird Boys in a room wit a bunch of rapid Squigs and kept a bunch a dat Warp stuff dey's always pumping out?' An dis iz wot dey came up wit! Bloody genius, it iz."

"Righly so, Boss. So, ah… Wot's dis got ta do wit Deff Skwadron?"

Badthug cuffed Uzgob over the head gently, which is to say he knocked his face into the table. "Everyting! After all, some boyz gotta drop it on Grimzug! An you lot are gonna be dose boyz."

Well, after Uzgob got back up Boss Badthug gave us our marching orders. We were to fly over Grimzug's camp with the other skwadrons, blowing away at Grimzung's boyz before dropping the payload right on his head. Short, sweet and simple. Just how we in Deff Skwadron like it.

So we strapped ourselves in and took off, ready to go on the make or break raid that would settle this Waagghh. Uzgob took the bomb, naturally. The idea of setting off such an unusual weapon was too enticing to let anyone else have it, and I was interested in seeing what it would do as well. Granted, with a big old bomb strapped to the underside of our plane we'd be prime targets, but you've always got to take a little bit so you can give the other boy a lot more.

Deff Skwadron was right smack dab in the middle of all the other skwadrons as we flew to Grimzug's base, the boyz on the ground coming up in tanks and bikes and gargants to get their own piece of the fun. Even those frakheads from the Claw Rippas Skwadron were there, and they've hated us ever since we stole their booze after we wrecked a Gargant a few missions ago. Boss Badthug had really gotten all the Boyz in order.

Now, I can say that it was a heartening sight. I can say it made us all proud to be Boyz that day, and we put aside our differences to work toward smacking that Grimzug a good one. I can say we felt all of that as we flew toward the target.

I could say that, but I'd be lying.

Fact of the matter was, we were happy to see all the other skwadrons surrounding us because that meant we could get a close up view of them getting blown to Gork and Mork. Hah! Always makes for a good time seeing those swarmy idjits getting knocked around.

Well, we were a few miles away when we met resistance. Grimzug had seen the dust our boyz were kicking up and sent his own boyz out in response. No doubt he thought he'd kick our boyz in the teef and have his hands on all the shiny scrap for his Mek boyz to have fun with. Well, we weren't having that.

A bunch of the skwadrons dove low and started bombing Grimzug's tanks, blowing the ever-loving frak out of them with loads of Dakka. Course, most of them got shredded in anti-air fire. They were screaming as their planes tore apart, and some of them even caught on fire! Oh, we had some good laughs out of that. One of them even fell into the tank cannons, actually managed to blow it up by clogging the thing. Had to give him a salute, twas bloody beautiful.

"ey, Gimzod," Uzgob said to me as we dodged around explosions and unloaded some hot dakka into the enemy. "Did Raznuts go down wit de rest a dose boyz?"

"No sir. He stayed up ere wit de rest a da skwadron. Didn't break formation at all."

"Bloody git," Uzgob grumbled, gripping his controls tighter. "Any chance we ken clip 'im?"

"We're too packed together, Boss."

"Eh, more's da pity."

Soon enough Grimthug's own flyboys came out to intercept us, something all of us were pleased to see. It was starting to get boring just dodging cannon fire and such. Raznuts shot ahead of us, aiming for one flyboy who was heading straight toward me and Uzgob. Uzgob's face lit up like he'd found an extra barrel of grog, and he fired a bunch of missiles at both fighters. Most of them missed, to be honest, but one hit Raznut's wing and sent him flying into the attacking plane.

"Hah! Dere we go!"

"Looks like Raznuts ejected, Boss. Dere's 'is parachute."

"Frakken 'ell, dat lucky git."

Air fights are always fun, let me tell you. You're flying around, going really fast and shooting at other things going around really fast and shooting back at you. And to make it even better, Grimzug finally got his Gargants out on the field. They were shooting at everything, our tanks, planes and even a bunch of their own boyz. It was like the whole world was colored in explosions and shrapnel. Now, I may be a Smartboy but I'll admit I don't have the words to describe just how beautiful it was. And as we flew around, taking out targets while keeping our cargo intact, I wouldn't have been anywhere else if you'd offered to make me Boss.

It's one of the things I've never really gotten about Humies or Eldar or Tau. They always talk about how fighting's some kind of bad thing, like they'd prefer if they didn't have to do it. But when push comes to shove, they do. What I don't get is all the bellyaching and waiting before they finally get their arses in gear and stop mucking about. If you were always going to get to shooting the other boy anyway, why bother talking so damn much before? And all those other boyz call the Orks crazy. They just don't get it.

It's certainly something Killboy understood. He was laughing as he charged one of Grimzug's Gargants, going full auto and launching all his missiles. Most went wide, naturally, hitting all sorts of boyz on the ground. Most of them might even have been Griimzug's, thinking back. Anyway, his plane hit the Gargant full on in the head, but Killboy kept flying through the air!

"'ey Boss," I told Uzgob. "Lookit dat!"

Uzgob looked over and smiled. One hundred seventy missions and two hundred planes crashed. Killboy's a crazy son of a squig and no mistake, but you have to give him his due. He knew how to act right and proper. He kept on flying through the air until another plane flew by, one of Grimzug's by the colors. His claw arm shot out, latching on to the plane and reeling him up. The look on the pilots face was priceless as Killboy chucked him out and took over, getting back with the rest of Deff Skwadron.

"Heh. Good ol Killboy."

Now, this continued on for a good bit with us just flying and shooting and being all around magnificent. It is, after all, what Deff Skwadron always does. But eventually we finally got to the target.

Grimzug's base was locked tighter than an Eldar's armor, packed with artillery and lots of boyz to shoot it. We had to get pretty fancy there, seeing as there was even more Dakka going up there than there'd been back where the Gargants and tanks had been having a go at each other. But the thing is, Deff Skwadron works best this way. The Humies have some saying for it, something about operating under pressure. I just say it's because it's fun as all hell and we know how to have a good time!

Well, we got ourselves over the base, shells bursting everywhere around us and dakka coming up almost as a solid wave. Grimzug had certainly pulled out all the stops. I couldn't help but wonder how many teef he'd had to spend to get some of this stuff. He didn't have too many Mek Boyz, last I'd heard.

It was almost a shame it was all going to get blown to Mork.

"Gimzod," Uzgob said to me. "Drop da bomb."

I pushed the button and away it went, heading straight for the middle of Grimzug's camp. For a few seconds there I was afraid our Meks had mucked it up. Nothing was happening except Grimzug's boyz shooting at us.

And then, bam! Suddenly everything below us erupted in a great swirl of colors! Mostly red and purple, but there was a little green in there also. Best color, that. Anyway, the light spreads out over the whole compound and for a minute there I thought we were going to get sucked in also. The plane rocked pretty hard, let me tell you. But she was a solid bird, and the lights stopped a bit away from us as we flew off. When it finally faded off there wasn't anything left of the base, just a big crater going into the ground.

"Pakege delivered, Boss," Uzgob said into the vox. We were pretty much alone in the air by that point, so we didn't worry too much about any more enemy fire. "Was a big ol boom! No mistake."

"_Good job, Elkib,"_ Badthug responded. _"Ya get Deff Skadron back ta base. Ah'm gonna need ya boyz in da dayz coming."_

"Got something big planned, Boss?"

"_I've always got something big planned, ya git!"_ Badthug shouted back. _"And don ya forget it."_

"Yes, Boss," Uzgod said quickly, no doubt not wanting to ruin Badthug's good mood.

"_Good. Ah'm givin da order ta kill off half a Grimzug's boyz and take in da other half. After beatin dem a bit, a course. We'z gonna need dem too."_

"Wow Boss. Whatcha gonna do wit dem?"

"_Got some interestin reports, Exglob. Da Imperial Boyz and dem Buggy Tyranids iz getting inta a great old scrap in da south bit a da galaxy. Ah wants in on it! So we're gonna take all da boyz and head on over. It'z gonna be a grand ol Waagghh!"_

So that's how Deff Skwadron took out Boss Grimzug and won the Waagghh for planet Gorkill. We were all happy to know Badthug had another fight waiting for us, though. It's what made Badthug such a good Boss. Sure, he hit us a lot and screamed a lot and liked to take credit for things he didn't do, but that doesn't matter. He's the biggest, and he always found good fights for the boyz. It's really all you need in a Boss.

As for us getting in on the Imperials fighting with the Tyranids? Well, that's a story for another time. Now hand me that grog! I'm thirsty and you've been hogging it all night, you git.

{oOo}


	22. Tread of the Behemoth

{oOo}

_**TREAD OF THE BEHEMOTH**_

{oOo}

There was nothing, nothing but fire and noise.

At the edge of the Imperium, Macragge burned in the furnace of war. The enemy was not familiar, not one of the many comfortable horrors humanity had faced time and time again. They were something new, something foreign, for they came from outside, from the deep dark where no light touched.

They were tooth and claw and blood, so much blood. They tore a swath of destruction along their path, consuming planet after planet before the mighty empire had even been aware of them. It had taken longer still to truly understand their foe, to dissect that alien intelligence and see what it truly desired. One mind, but with many bodies all driven toward a singular purpose.

To devour all there was, leaving nothing but dust and fading memories in their wake.

"Hold them back!" a man, yet larger than any man naturally born, roared to his men as they pumped countless rounds into the oncoming swarm. They were innumerable, a legion of nightmare beasts that ate up the horizon. Bolter, cyclone missile and autocannon fire tore through them in the hundreds, but it was only just enough to keep the marines from being completely overwhelmed. Because no matter how many they killed, there were always more of the enemy. "I want that flank secured, dammit! We're not letting a single bug past us!"

"Sir, yes sir!" came the chorus of his men, each clad in blue power armor, redoubling their efforts in the face of the endless tide of chitinous flesh and teeth that desired to consume them whole. Acid and strange insect fire was the response, not to mention the countless bodies thrown at the barricades that had been erected to hold back this portion of the larger swarm.

Several of those bodies leapt over their bulwark, most being shot down mid flight. There were far too many for the marines to catch them all, however. Three such clawed abominations, about the size of a man, smashed into the marines. One was cut down immediately, a chainsword taking it at the head. Another managed to get its claws into a marine, ripping out the man's guts and spilling them to the ground before the concentrated bolter fire ripped it to shreds.

The last one pounced right on top of one of them, taking him to the ground. It's claws dug deep grooves in the ceramite, its teeth biting a chunk out of a pauldron, before the marine managed to stick his bolter in the thing's mouth and pull the trigger. The creature's head erupted in an explosion of gore, its skull blown open by the explosive rounds. With a grunt he pushed the beast off and stood back up, joining his brothers and sending more fire at the almost solid mass charging toward them.

"Apothecary!" the captain shouted. But the specialist marine was already there, tending the one who had fallen. He was quick in his work, perfectly aware that another wave could push its way above the barricade again. The gutted marine was dead, his superhuman constitution not enough to withstand shredded organs. All that was left were to take the progenoid glands and drag the body away from the front line.

_Ninth time they've jumped the barricades in the last half hour,_ the captain thought ruefully as he looked for primary targets. _They're finally taking this little scuffle seriously. Might be about time to abandon this position and head toward the fortresses._

They had been fighting for days now, a nonstop grinder of death and blood. And, all things considered, they were on one of the lighter fronts of the war. But now that the enemy had met with stiffer resistance all over the planet, they were pressing in one other areas to try and get at more heavily defended positions. The captain couldn't recall how many times they'd been pushed back, but he knew for damn sure how often they'd been able to advance. Not enough.

But they would hold, they had to! All that was and would ever be counted on them, on holding strong! And if they fell, they would make sure they did not fall alone!

Not that the enemy cared, of course. They had noticed early in the war how they dragged their dead to be broken down into new warriors for the fight. Tyranids, they called them, named after the first Imperial planet taken by the swarm. Four warships, a full company of marines and countless guardsmen swept aside in hours. And they could expend wave after wave of bodies to hammer them down, breaking morale under the weight of endless reserves.

The captain raised a visor to his eyes and grinned. The damn bugs always seemed to adapt to whatever strategy they threw at them, the same tricks never working quite so well the second time around. But that didn't mean they couldn't come up with new tricks.

Tricks like using themselves as bait to lure some of the damn beasties in thinking there was easy prey. He could see one of the bigger Tyranids, one they called a Tyrant, making its way to the front. It no doubt intended to better direct the battle and to punch a hole through their line, giving it a straight shot at more ground and a chance to flank their brothers on other battlefields. Not a horrible plan from the bugs, the captain mused as he tapped into his helmet's vox set. It was quite sound, actually, given how the marines had presented themselves. Too bad it was never going to work.

"Hit them now!" the captain roared into the vox.

The thunderhawks swooped in like the fist of an angry deity, tearing through the Tyranid flyers and bathing the killing field in heavy missile fire. Each bomb tore great chunks out of the landscape, sending several of the creatures flying with every strike. But more than that, they erupted in liquid fire, flaming jelly spreading over the battlefield and eating into aliens both alive and dead. They screeched in agony as the heat cooked them alive inside their own shells, none louder than the Tyrant as it fell to the ground, sending a small tremor as it did.

"Try recycling yourselves after we burn you to ash, you sons of bitches," the captain growled, setting down the visor and aiming his bolter to take out some of the creatures still alive before another large one came and took control of the now leaderless rabble.

There was nothing, nothing but fire and noise and brave men holding back the monsters at their door.

It was the same everywhere, battles fought on every corner of the world. Objectives were taken. Objectives were lost. The planetary defense weapons had needed to be repaired twice now, once by enemy action and the other from overuse. And more and more the Ultramarines and their allies found themselves getting pushed back, managing only meager gains in ground against the beasts assaulting their world.

And Roboute Guilliman processed all of it as he observed the battle at the northern polar fortress of the mighty bastion he had ordered Macragge turned in to. He watched countless screens detailing battlefield positions of both allies and enemies, received a steady stream of reports from the battle in space as the Imperial Fleet and its various allies came to grips against the massive ships the Tyranids were throwing at them. He looked over everything that came to him as the fighting wore on, taking in more than three weeks worth of information as he sought a pattern, any weakness he could exploit in the enemy assaulting his beloved home.

The fleet above was doing a marvelous job, all things considered. Hundreds of ships from all over the sector had converged in the skies above Macragge, coming to grips with the Tyranid fleet as they attempted to take the planet. The xenos were making a strong effort for it, Guilliman had to admit.

But the line would be drawn here at Macragge! He wouldn't let these things destroy everything he cared for, everything he and his family had sacrificed so much to protect. They would be broken here. Whether he lived to see it or not, the threat would be broken before it could destroy another innocent world. Macragge would be the rock that weathered the tide, shattering it before it could engulf everything.

_May the dead of Tyran forgive us,_ he thought solemnly. _We couldn't save you, but we will avenge you. I assure you of that. _

"Sire," one of his aids yelled. "We've just gotten an emergency report from the fleet!"

Guilliman raised one power gauntleted hand, silencing the man. Quickly his eyes went to what the man was getting at, and the Primarch let out an uncharacteristic growl of frustration. The aid took a startled step back; his liege lord's face one of barely contained frustration and fury. The mighty Primarch shook for a moment before he finally relaxed, his posture becoming more natural.

Dealing with these abominations was taxing everyone. Even, it seemed, the indomitable Lord of Macragge himself.

"Dammit," he said quietly. "Just when we were gaining some breathing room" He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes at this latest update. "They had another fleet behind Circe. I guess it was good that I had the fleet hold back from chasing them too far."

Guilliman opened one eye when he saw the latest report come in, giving a wry smile as it said what he already knew.

"And here I thought I'd been clever trying to lead them into a punch," he said to himself, the details from space telling him the ships he'd held in reserve had exited into Materium and were successfully engaging the Tyranid reinforcements in a flanking maneuver. "In the end, both our traps went off at the same time."

He barked out a laugh.

"Look at me. I had the same plan as a bunch of insects. It would be amusing if it wasn't so insulting."

"Sire," the aid said again, concerned. "If these reports are right, then there's no way the fleet will be able to withstand this assault. There are more ships out there than even our worst estimates!"

"Most wars are won by the side with the most men, yes," Guilliman responded. "But not always."

"_You seem to be in a rough spot, my lord Guilliman,"_ came a voice from the vox unit set near the son of the Emperor. _"Care for a little help?"_

"Sire," came a woman looking over the battle near Circe as she compiled it for the Primarch to take in. "Seven ships have just shunted into real space. It's a Chaos Warband, the Draco Magisters!"

"What?"

One of the screens shifted from the overall picture of the war going on above their heads to a handsome man with grey eyes and black hair. He was a marine, obviously, though he was larger than most Astartes by almost a foot in height. His shoulder guards were a dark red and adorned with spikes, and his silver armor was highlighted with blue, as were his pauldrons.

But Guilliman could remember a time when those shoulder guards had been black, and on them had been a shining silver moon. He could remember when this man stood side by side with his brothers in shining silver armor, sworn to protect the guiding lights of the Imperium. This was a traitor's armor, made and set for a traitorous man.

"Tyrantus Drake," Guilliman spat, saying the word like a curse. "You have some nerve, showing yourself here after what you did."

"_I had my reasons, and I still do. I'd do it again if need be."_

"You attacked my sister!"

"_Yes, I did. But that is immaterial. The issue at the moment is whether or not Macragge will survive the next twenty-four hours."_

"And you care?"

"_Of course I care,"_ Drake responded, looking almost offended by Guilliman's words. _"My issues with the Senshi aside, the Imperium must live. I have always stood by this. And I'm sure you can't waste resources to hit me while I help you."_

Guilliman ground his teeth at the traitor marine's words. His assessment was accurate, which added to his frustration. Getting into a fight with the Chaos Warband would waste valuable time and resources they needed to fight the Tyranids. As it was, Guilliman needed all the help he could get. But to rely on the aid of traitors… The very idea made him feel like he was choking on bile!

"_Cheer up, my lord,"_ Drake said with a small smile. _"I have good news. Angron and Jaghatai are on their way with three hundred ships, so Macragge isn't doomed yet. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a war to fight."_

{oOo}

Deep in space, Drake sat on his throne and watched the battle going on before him. He looked at the mass of enemies, so many they almost defied description, as the Imperial ships dug into them. His own fleet continued to get into position, looking for the best possible target.

His ship was a bastion of efficiency, men at their stations and getting everything ready for the imminent combat. Many had some form of mutation, showing they had favor from their deity. Drake himself observed everything, a holo display set in front of his throne. They'd had to rely more on the purely mechanical aspects of the ship in this space, as for some reason the shadow these creatures placed on the warp was sending the daemons locked within into a frenzy of pain. Behind him the symbol of Tzeentch, his patron, glowed ominously with azure light.

"Yes, I know," he said to no one in particular. If any of the crew heard, they gave it no mind. It was not an uncommon occurrence that their lord spoke to himself occasionally. "But I have my reasons. And besides, you don't like these things either. Best to nip them in the bud before they become an even larger issue."

"Sire," a man called from his station. "We've just located a number of the larger ships inside the enemy fleet. So far we do not appear to have been detected."

"Good," Drake said as he stood, throwing out an arm dramatically. "All ships lock on and fire! Let's give a good showing as we join the fight!"

As one, the entire Chaos fleet opened up on the giant Hive ships, taking them completely by surprise. Torpedoes and lance batteries tore great chunks out of them, cracking one of them open entirely and punching a hole straight through another. One burst apart and sent miles long chunks of shrapnel into another of the ships, tearing out a great gouge and knocking it off its course. It slammed into numerous smaller ships, which promptly broke under the force of the larger vessel.

The swarm seemed to lose a little cohesion as the ships broke apart, though it reasserted itself swiftly. A number of them turned their attention to the approaching Chaos fleet, sending out waves of bony torpedoes and strange looking plasma. Void shields flared and diverted most of the onslaught, though one of the smaller cruisers took a glancing blow as their shields overloaded. A long scar tore it way across its side, but it managed to restore shields before the next wave could destroy it.

"Well," he said as his ship rocked under the assault, managing to get back in his chair just in time to avoid falling flat on his face. "That got their attention."

{oOo}

Guilliman observed Drake's assault calmly as the reports continued to come in, and though he despised the man had head to admit his intervention was timely. Seven ships was a paltry amount compared to the enemy they faced, but any aid would help stem the tide until reinforcements arrived.

He looked behind toward the heart of the fortress. It was the most secure area on the planet, and not simply because it was within the heart of one of the strongest military bases in the subsector. Its walls were several feet thick of adamantium, with automated bolter emplacements powered on their own separate energy supply. It also had almost one hundred Sororitas and Silver Knights guarding it at all times. It was, in short, a fortress within the fortress.

He knew in his head that it was as well defended as it possibly could be, given the circumstances. He knew that diverting any further assets from the fortress' core might have a detrimental effect on the war. He knew all this, but in his heart he could not help but feel it was not defended enough.

He was not usually given to feelings of such strong emotion; something he knew had contributed in some small part to Lorgar's madness. It was a part of him, something he could not dismiss. His composure was important to him, and there were only a few times when it cracked. Though recently over the course of this war he'd found it pushed to the breaking point.

He shuddered at the thought of what Drake might have done if he'd known that Serenity was here, and had been for weeks now. His sister had sat in seclusion for most of that time, meditating and pushing her mind against the boundary their enemy made from the shadow they cast upon the Warp. Drake always appeared calm and composed, but he knew that the man hated the Senshi with an almost religious fervor, and Serenity stood at the apex of his rancor. It would have been disastrous for the war if the man had gone and laid siege to the fortress to get at her.

_Serenity, please be careful._

{oOo}

The world was color and sound, blending together harmoniously in a way that dazzled the senses and calmed the mind. It stretched on great distances in every direction, bringing peace and tranquility. At the edges of it reigned noise and fire and insanity, a cacophonous din that tumbled about like a hurricane, but it could not touch this place. Peace was everything, and within this peace rested the mind of one woman.

Serenity floated within the island that was herself, observing the shadow in the distance. It, too, dispelled the wildness of the Warp, though in a much different way. Serenity brought harmony, made paradoxes smooth themselves until they were interlocking pieces of a greater whole. The Shadow, on the other hand, smothered everything and flattened it under its weight. It was a horrible, encroaching mass made from more minds than she could count. An abominably giant creature more horrifying than the worst of nightmares, and Serenity had seen things created purely from the terrors of mortal kind itself.

Though her body rested within the confines of that Shadow as it attacked her brother's home, her mind stood outside it as she observed this foreign power. Her first attempt to interact with it had been a failure. Her island repulsed the thing even as it attempted to breach it. That had been an experience, and a remarkably painful one. Ever since then she had stayed out of its reach, taking her time to compress her presence in the warp. Considering the vastness of her soul self this had not been a fast, or particularly pleasant, endeavor. Though time outside this place was difficult to measure, such things having no meaning within the boundaries of the Empyrean, but she believed it had been several weeks now since she had begun her task.

She had to move quickly then. She'd managed to compress her influence, becoming denser rather than widespread. Not what she was used to, but for this purpose it seemed the best course of action. She approached the great Shadow cautiously, reaching out with her power. No words were spoken, for that was too crude a method of communication in this place. Rather, intent was given. Intent and an iron, if questioning, will.

_What are you?_

_**SWARMDEVOURERHUNGER!**_

It sent images of billions upon billions of creatures, consuming all in its path before moving on to the next meal. Always hungry, never satisfied as it searched for ever more sustenance. It was literally a gaping, bottomless maw that carved its way through space and planet and flesh in this endless pursuit to sate urges that could never be appeased.

The force of the thing's voice was immense, but her island withstood it. Compacted so tightly around herself, the essence of this thing simply washed over her instead of overwhelming her mind like it nearly had the last Psyker to attempt contact with it. Still, it was rather loud, and the effort of processing its intent into something she could understand was difficult.

_I would prefer there be peace between us. Please withdraw your forces and cease your hostilities._

The great Shadow paused, as if trying to understand this alien intent. It hadn't simply buckled under the weight of its presence, which was alarming. Nothing had ever managed that before. And now it was emoting strange things to it, sending bizarre visions that it had no reference for.

The two species working together, building and creating...

Their young growing next to each other, learning and carrying on in their parent's footsteps...

Defending territory against all enemies, standing side by side and ensuring peace and prosperity for both of their kind...

It took some time for the Shadow to properly understand what was being asked of it, of the images the creature before it was sending. When it did, it scoffed. The hunter did not negotiate with prey.

_**NOPEACE!YOUAREFOOD!FOODISDEVOURED!ALLISDEVOURED!EATBREEDMOVEEATBREEDMOVEEATB REEDMOVE!**_

_I see. I have no choice then._

And explosion rocked across the surface of the Shadow, burning a part of it straight off. The shadow screeched, recoiling from the blow. This had never happened before! What was this thing, this tiny thing that hurt it so? What could possibly direct damage right to the hive mind itself? It did not act like prey. That was unnatural! That was abhorrent! It was something that should not be!

_**ENEMY!ENEMYENEMYENEMYENEMYENEMYENE MY!**_

The thing retaliated, pitting its own titanic mind against Serenity as she unleashed more of her power upon the beast. Explosions of intent dotted its form as it unleashed tendrils of darkness against her, swatting at her as she danced among its strikes. Black holes of hunger erupted around her, but she pushed them aside. Suns made of primal rage were thrown at her, but she snuffed them out. She pushed, and it pushed back. It pulled, and she resisted. It was a battle of titans, concepts and raw power being launched at the other as they struggled for dominance.

If one could pierce the veil between the material and the immaterial, look beyond the constraints of the physical realm, one would see a corona of light and force and will made manifest. But those in the material world did not know of this epic struggle. They remained unaware of what was going on just outside their doorstep.

Its aftereffects, however, were apparent to everyone.

{oOo}

"Sire, the Tyranids are going absolutely berserk!"

It was true. All over the planet many of the creatures lost cohesion, organized groups breaking apart into a chaotic rabble. Thousands simply seemed to die on the spot. But it was hardly the entire force, far from it. The majority of the swarm was attacking with even greater fervor, and all of them seemed to be directing their attention at the fortress.

"Hmm," Guilliman said softly as he observed this new influx of battlefield information. "She seems hard at work. Let's see what we can do to make it easier for her."

"_My lord,"_ came a call on the vox, cutting Guilliman off from the orders he was about to give. It would have taken the keenest eyes to notice the imperceptible twitch of his eyebrow at the interruption, but he said nothing of it. For one, it was bad form to snap at someone giving vital information. But even more importantly, he would always take time to listen to the one calling him. Few could boast having his undivided attention at all times.

"Aurelia? Is something wrong on your warfront?"

"_Sire, it's here. _

Guilliman froze, his hand half way toward one of the data lecterns to see information from another front.

"You're sure?"

"_Positive. It's leading a huge force on the fortress."_

"I'll be right there."

He turned to one of the men aiding him, a high-ranking member of the Imperial Guard aiding the Marines, and pulled him close. The man managed to keep his dignity with just a slight widening of his eyes.

"Keep an eye on this," he said with a wave toward the multitude of monitors. "Get help from General Tullock and Adept Varianex. Look for patterns and react accordingly."

"Of course, my lord. But what will you be doing?"

"Keeping a promise."

With that, Guilliman turned and made his way down the hall, long strides eating up ground. People moved readily out of his way, no one stupid enough to bother a Primarch on an obvious warpath. His face was a thundercloud, so very different from his usual stoic countenance. He looked dangerous, not just in face but in form. Those who looked upon him found it disturbing, and more than a little frightening.

Memories plagued him as he marched, making his stormy expression even more dire. Memories of just a few scant months ago, when a badly damaged Thunderhawk had come in carrying the wounded.

"_My… lord," Marneus choked out, trying vainly to talk as the medics carried him in_.

Guilliman closed his eyes, trying to block out the image of the man, torn to shreds as if by some beast. His limbs were mangled beyond all recognition, his right arm simply gone at the shoulder. But despite that he had reached up for him, his Primarch, with tears in his eyes even as blood pooled from his mouth.

"_My… lord, I'm sorry. We… couldn't… hold the line." He coughed, sending out a spray of blood. Aurelia was by his side, trying to stabilize him with her power as the medics took him further inside. But healing was not her specialty, and all she could do was keep him from bleeding out right then and there._

"_Don't speak," Guilliman responded, keeping an eye on his trusted second as they made their way to the infirmary. Marneus opened his mouth again, but Aurelia pushed him back gently. His eyes closed, and while his breathing was ragged it seemed a touch easier as the Senshi set her hands on him._

"_What did this," Guilliman said softly, his voice so quiet not even an Astartes would have detected it. But Aurelia's senses were beyond an Astartes, and she heard it well enough, as well as the barely restrained rage locked within the taller man._

"_A monstrous four armed Tyrant bio-form," she responded, not taking her eyes off Marneus. "It was a leader, I think, the lord of the swarm. They were more directed under it, and it broke our unit apart like glass. I only just managed to drive it off."_

He pushed the memory aside even as he pushed open the door to the tenth-floor landing dock. There was a constant stream of motion outside as men directed fire toward flying monstrosities in order to keep the airways clear, a constant stream of men and supplies coming to and from the fortress to other battlefields all over the planet. Guilliman strode to the edge of the platform and, with one smooth motion, jumped.

The air pushed past him as he cut through it, and to those on the ground he appeared as nothing but a large blue blur as the miles disappeared beneath him. Some of the flying Tyranids attempted to strike him, but none were fast enough to match his speed. Those in his way had but a brief moment to squeal in pain as he pulped them, his strength and the power field around him gauntlets turning everything in his path into mush as he careened toward his destination.

Finally, after several minutes, gravity resumed its dominance and Guilliman began to descend. The Primarch tensed his legs in preparation, and he smiled when he saw where he would land.

The swarm of termagaunts didn't even know what hit them.

That chore dealt with, he looked around for Aurelia. She wasn't hard to find. She floated above the battlefield upon streams of light, her hands aglow with power as she directed marines and guardsmen against the huge tide of chitin and claws converging upon them.

"Agitatis Ultramarini!" she cried, beams of photonic energy coming from her hands to cut into the enemy as they approached. Dozens of them died as she cut into them, dozens upon dozens, but still more came. More always came. It was not in the nature of these things to simply lie down and die. "Dominitis Ultramarini!"

But despite the odds against them, the men did not despair. Marine and guardsman alike took up her cry, chanting with her. As one they fired, as one they stood strong against the swarm as it came close. They chanted and roared their defiance. How could they fail when the embodiment of Macragge itself stood with them? And if they died, so be it! Anything to see these monsters dead for the sacrilege of polluting the sacred ground of Macragge! To smash their advance here before they could further taint the Imperium of Mankind!

"Non praestatis Ultramarini!" she screamed, her voice carrying above even the piercing screech of their monstrous foe. They struck at her, sending wave upon wave to destroy her. But she did not fall. Venom and insect and bone flew and were stopped by a solid wall of light, and she retaliated with wave after wave of blinding fire that burned the creatures within their own shells. "Nobilitis Ultramarini!"

Guilliman allowed himself a small smile at the sight, casually smashing a screaming monster's head in as he backhanded another as it tried to jump him. But soon enough his eyes drifted from her toward the crowd of beasts she and her men were engaged with. Somewhere in there was the monster he sought. Somewhere…

He had but a fraction of a second to notice the shadow over his shoulder as it struck. Certain death for most, but it was more than enough time for a man such as Roboute Guilliman. He turned, nimbly dodging as a crackling sword gouged out a great swath of dirt and rock. A second sword came at him, but he managed to get his powerfist up in time to deflect the blow. This continued for a short time, a give and take of weapons strong enough to part the strongest metals as if they were mere sand.

Eventually, however, the creature jumped back. Guilliman frowned at the action. Had it noticed he was about to land a counter-attack that would have crushed its chest? He had given only the smallest of tells. Could it truly be that perceptive?

It was a hulking brute, taller even than himself, with a maw filled with razor sharp teeth and saliva that ate into the ground as it dribbled out. It stood on two legs, and in each of its four arms it held a bony sword crackling with energy. Its carapace was a mix of purple and white, like the rest of its kind, but its seemed sleeker and better put together. But it was the thing's eyes that attracted most of Guilliman's attention. Its eyes were filled with far more intelligence than he'd seen in the rest of its misbegotten kind. And even as he measured it, it measured him. Truly, this was a dangerous foe. It was, without a doubt, the lord of this swarm.

In his peripheral vision Guilliman saw several of the larger Tyranid bioforms making a wall between Aurelia's men and where he and the Swarmlord fought. The Senshi was rushing toward him, trying desperately to come to his aid. But it would be minutes before she could fight her way through, minutes in which either he or the Swarmlord would be dead.

"Clever bastard, aren't you?" Guilliman said before he unleashed a hail of bolt rounds. But he was just a second too slow. The Swarmlord leaped to the side, zigzagging this way and that at speeds that belied its giant size. And when it seemed Guilliman would adapt to the motion, it started jumping in an entirely new pattern, its unnatural agility allowing it to dodge even Guilliman's steady aim.

And then they were trading blows again, every motion it had taken drawing it closer and closer to the Lord of Macragge. It struck with an overhand blow, an attack that the Primarch just barely managed to avoid. It was a trap, of course. Guilliman had seen through the ploy just a second before it happened. He blocked the two strikes he was being led into with one gauntlet and ducked under the third, countering with an uppercut which was promptly turned aside before it could come close. He attempted to kill it with a burst of close range bolter fire, but it twisted out of the way just in time, two swords coming to strike his side. He slammed one down and ducked the other, getting in close and having to move his head to the side as the thing attempted to bite off his face.

Their back and forth continued, neither managing to get the upper hand over the other. They twisted around blows that could break tanks by the barest of margins, deflected strikes that would cleave a regular man in two with the greatest of ease. It was a dance, a deadly dance as the two of them read the others intent just a moment before they acted. Neither could break the rhythm, could turn the battle in their favor. Whenever they tried it simply changed the tempo of their waltz, creating a new cascade of steps as they moved from one series of attacks to the next. Sword met fist again and again as they tried to strike the killing blow, superior strength meeting its equal against superior agility as man met monster in elegant savagery.

And then the sword struck, biting deep into Guilliman's pauldron. He hissed as he felt the edge meet flesh, felt the sword's power field melt his skin as it edged toward bone. But even as it did, he smiled.

With one hand he blocked the follow up strike, turning it aside and leaving the Swarmlord off balance as he turned, taking the thing's momentum away as he pulled it along with his body. And then, when he was sure it could not stop him, he slammed one crackling fist into the thing's elbow, taking the arm off in an explosion of blood and bone. It screeched, trying to back away from him. But Guilliman wouldn't let it retreat, wouldn't lose his advantage.

"That was for Marneus," he said quietly, moving forward even as the Swarmlord moved back. It struck a quick succession of blows, but each was turned aside as the Primarch advanced. With one hand he twisted, locking another of the Swarmlord's arms under between his chest and bicep. With one solid pull it came off at the shoulder.

"That was for the Ultramarines!" he said, louder than before. The mighty Tyranid's remaining arms became a blur, moving faster and faster as it tried to cut down its enemy. But the combat was no longer equal now, was no longer superior agility versus superior strength. The Swarmlord was slowing, blood coming in waves from the stumps of its arms, and Guilliman moved ever faster. It caught both the thing's hands in his own, the power field pulping them to mush. The Swarmlord tried again to bite him, but before it could reach him Guilliman headbutted the creature hard enough to chip its chitinous armor and cut his own skin. It staggered back, disoriented for but a moment before turning back to him, screeching its rage right in his face.

The screech died off when Guilliman rammed his gauntleted hand right down its throat.

"And this," he said as he wrenched back, gripping tight as he pulled. "Is for the Imperium of Man!"

The Swarmlord's guts came out as Guilliman turned, esophagus and stomach coming apart as he forced them out of the thing's mouth. It gave a pitiful caw as they spilled on the ground, taking one step forward before collapsing in a bloody heap. It twitched a little, as if trying to rise, before Guilliman stomped its head with his boot, shattering it and sending bits of brain and bone everywhere.

That finished, he wrenched the still crackling power weapon from his ruined pauldron, wincing a little as his abused shoulder told him exactly what it thought of the stress he had put it through. But the pain was already fading, his superior biology already repairing the damage as he turned toward the Tyrants blocking his path from Aurelia.

And, in the sound of fire and noise and brave men fighting and dying, the war continued on.

{oOo}


	23. Punishment and Blame

{oOo}

_Punishment and Blame_

{oOo}

He stood alone within the great confines of his vessel, none daring to disturb him within his inner sanctum. The room was well furnished, almost opulent, but it was the bare minimum his station demanded. He truly did not care for such base materialism. A more spartan arrangement would have suited him better, in all honesty. But it was what was expected of him. And that, like so many other things, was a tool he could not do without. There were just some matters where the power of perception held sway, and he could do nothing about it.

A great star map floated in the air before his face, detailing the course they would travel. It would be a long journey, though not so long as one might think. He held secrets only the barest of handfuls even knew glimmers of, and even fewer still who knew the entire truth. To shorten an otherwise extended expedition was one of the least things he could accomplish.

His quarry lingered in one spot, as he always did. He had been there for over two months now, despite the fact that any resistance had already been crushed. He would be there for many more months, possibly even years. And this, as with so many things his prey did, he could not allow. His patience was vast, but it was not infinite. All opportunities had been given and they had been ignored. Now was the time for these transgressions to end.

Lord. King. Emperor. He was all of these things. It had not always been so, ages ago. Before he had hidden in the shadows and guided humanity with naught but whispers. That time was long past, though. Now where once he wielded a stiletto he used a hammer, and he would use it well to drive a lesson home.

The Emperor diverted his eyes to the door, feeling her presence. She was coming. He'd sensed her arrival hours before, but now she was finally making her way to him. He had anticipated this might happen, though he had not expected her to come so soon. She had managed to catch him just in time. His fleet would not be ready to move for another three days.

The Custodes guarding his rooms opened the heavy doors, admitting the slim figure of his daughter. Serenity. His darling Serena, so beautiful and strong. She was wearing one of her formal outfits, a pristine white dress with silver trim. A finely worked necklace on gold rested around her throat, set with diamonds that sparkled in the dim light of his chambers. It seemed she, too, utilized perception as a instrument to help gainsay any that might deflect her from her path.

He could not help his smile. She had learned well.

"Greetings, Father," she said evenly. The Emperor turned her attention fully to her and held his arms open. Serenity came forward and embraced him, a daughter to a father. It had been quite some time since they had last seen each other. They were always so busy, and chances like these did not come often. But there was a strange awkwardness to the hug, as if she was unsure of something. That was unusual.

"Hello, Serenity."

She was concerned. She tried to hide it, but he knew her better than anyone. Her aura was tightly controlled, but to his eyes she shown with a kaleidoscope of emotion. Love was prominent, as it always was. Determination was its equal, mixing with it to become something stronger than adamantine and more powerful than the mightiest warship. None could deny that that her will was strong. But there was something new within her aura today, something he perceived clearly despite how she tried to hide it. A deep concern and, within that, fear.

"Which one of them told you," the Emperor asked wearily as they pulled apart. Serenity's eyes widened for an instant in surprise, but she quickly recovered. She knew him as he knew her. Secrets between them always tended to find their ways to the forefront. "Magnus or Leman?"

"The both did," she responded. "Father, they're both concerned. Very concerned. I am as well. Do you truly mean to punish Lorgar?"

"It seems I have more than one disobedient son," the Emperor said wryly. "But I will forgive them this. Their insubordination was born from the love of a brother, and I will not begrudge that."

"It is true, then," she said softly. "You are going to Lorgar in order to discipline him."

"Yes," the Emperor said. "I have made a mistake with him. I let this foolishness fester for too long, hoping he would grow out of his childishness. I was clear when the Crusade began what I expected. All of my sons were left with no room for doubt."

Anger bled into his voice, a small undercurrent. But for one such as him, who had lived millennia, it was almost like a shout. His voice remained quiet, but Serenity noticed his frustration. She laid a hand on his arm, and the Emperor put a hand over it gently before turning around.

"There would be no dragging of their feet. There would be no worship. Not of myself or anything else. And yet he persists in erecting these icons in my likeness! Insists on demanding others praise my name as some sort of god! Does he believe I desire this? I have told him I do not. But he does not listen! He does not learn!"

"What are you going to do?"

The Emperor faced her again, his expression set as steel.

"I will go to Khur. He is there now, spending far too much time after bringing the planet into the fold. I will meet up with Roboute over the planet, and I will give Lorgar one final chance to listen to reason. If he does not, then I will destroy these idols he insists on building as a lesson to him that they will not be tolerated. The cities he has constructed them in will be evacuated and then wiped clean, no stone left upon another. And then I will leave my Custodes with him to observe and ensure that he does not revert back to his bad habits."

They were quiet then, neither speaking now that the Emperor had made his intent clear. Serenity turned to the star map, looking within its depths. The Emperor joined her, standing by her side. He was taller than her even without his armor. They looked almost nothing alike, in truth. But if one were to see them standing there together, they would not fail to notice the power each held. Their force of presence was without question, their charisma beyond human. And in that all would know that they were father and daughter.

"I cannot dissuade you of this," she whispered. It was not a question.

"No," the Emperor said, just as quietly. "Lorgar must be punished."

"Then let it be Lorgar alone who is punished!"

She turned to him, placing both her hands on his arms. The Emperor gave no reaction save a slight widening of his eyes, more at her words than at her actions. He had known she would react to this news, but this was a possibility he had considered lower than others. He had thought it more likely that she would try to convince him against this course.

"If Lorgar and his sons must be brought to bear for their actions, then please let them alone suffer it. Do not punish the people of Khur for something they could not avoid. They are blameless."

"There's are the hands that have erected my image in this distasteful way," the Emperor said. "There's are the throats that call my name as if unto a deity."

"But only at Lorgar's direction!" Serenity responded, resolute and unyielding. "What else could they have done, Father? How could they have denied him?"

The Emperor did not respond. His brow furrowed in thought, contemplating his daughter's words. Serenity took this as a sign to continue, and did so with even more passion in her words than before.

"I know I cannot convince you to ease your displeasure with Lorgar. If he must be chastised, then let him be chastised. Make it clear that you will not accept what has occurred. Embarrass him if you must; let it be known to the entire sector that you will not allow your name to be worshipped. But please do not let those innocents be harmed for being pulled into Lorgar's mistake. Don't destroy their homes and livelihoods because my brother would not listen."

Silence reigned again. Serenity withdrew her hands from her father, but her eyes never left his. Her aura was nothing but determination now. Love and concern and fear were hidden from his eyes, consumed by a roaring tide of impassioned will. She laid her soul bare to him and held nothing back, and so he saw to the deepest depths within her. Her every word was sincere. He knew that for truth as surely as he knew his own mind.

He took no pleasure in the deaths of those humans who died throughout the Crusade. It was regrettable, something to lament rather than exalt. He did it only because he had to, because it must be done to unite mankind. He did not desire collateral damage, though it was so often necessary. But was that truly needed here?

The Emperor turned again to the star map. His eyes were set on the little dot that represented Khur, never blinking. His thought whirled as he considered Serenity's proposal, considered their spirit and their worth. He was not easily swayed once his mind was set, but perhaps...

"There is wisdom in your words," he said at last. "And understanding. I cannot be lenient with Lorgar, you know and accept this." He exhaled deeply. "But there are other ways to make my intent perfectly clear. I will destroy nothing on Khur save for the idols erected in my name. Lorgar and his sons will break those with their own hands."

"Thank you," Serenity whispered. "Thank you, Father."

"I am not the one you need to thank," the Emperor responded. "Your argument has merit. Leman and Magnus pled that I not punish Lorgar. You understand that I must. But I agree with you. The penalty for this should be set with the one who did the crime, not those who had no choice in the matter. I trust you and those under your command will do their best to cleanse these distasteful practices?"

"Of course, Father," Serenity said. "They are misguided, but not as Lorgar is. They and the others he has convinced can be drawn away from this in time."

"I do regret that this will distract you from your other work, from ensuring the smooth introduction of worlds into the Imperium after any resistance has been dealt with."

"Not at all, Father!" Serenity said with laughter in her voice. The tension that had mounted disappeared under her smile. "I'm doing exactly that with my brother Lorgar's worlds. Would you not say they have not yet truly been brought into the Imperium? Is it not obvious they lack the teachings of the Imperial Truth? As such, it is my duty to ensure their transition goes without incident."

The Emperor nodded. "Indeed. I have no doubt that you will accomplish this."

Serenity embraced him again, and this time there was more warmth to it. The pressure from before was gone. He was glad of it. He would always do his duty, but even so he did not like to see his daughter upset.

"Now, I believe you must be off my dear," he said before kissing her on the forehead. "I have much to do, as do you. Will you be able to reach Khur within the next few months?"

"There will be no problems," Serenity said as she turned to leave. "I will make it there in time."

"Good," he said with a smile. "Always know that I love you, Serenity."

"And I you, Father."

The doors opened once more and Serenity made her way out, leaving the Emperor alone once more. He smiled at a little at the doors, shaking his head at the actions of his daughter. Again, she surprised him. A small surprise, true, but it was good to be reminded such things could happen even for someone as old as he. He glanced at the star map once again, observing the flickering lights that represented suns and planets.

And then he turned it off. He had stared at the thing long enough today. There was still much to do, as there always was. It had always been so, and would always be.

And no matter how difficult, he would always do what he must.

{oOo}


	24. Tales of the Fallen I

{oOo}

_The Imperium has always stood upon the shoulders of the heroes supporting it, men and women who are willing to pay any price to ensure the safety of the innocents resting within its borders. And often they are called upon to pay the ultimate sacrifice, and in doing their duty are embraced by the Emperor and the Princess as their lives extinguish. For only in death does duty end._

_Among these heroes are the Silver Knights, great men whose deeds have brought them into an exalted order of Adeptus Astartes. They are the direct servants of the Senshi themselves, who in their grace have generously left the majority of their forces with our Ordo Xenos, the alien relations branch. They are our primary military might, the hand of Serenity sheltering the galaxy from those who would prey upon humanity._

_But, as we have seen so many times before, not even heroes are immune to the temptations of Chaos. Astartes from every chapter have had their share of traitors and renegades, save for the Gray Knights. Their order alone has remained untarnished by the bitter trace of betrayal from the machinations of the daemonic. Sadly, the Silver Knights have not been so fortunate. For within their ranks there has been one who turned his back upon his vows and raised arms against those he was sworn to protect. I speak of the curious man known as Tyrantus Drake, whose actions have brought equal parts confusion and anger for the people of the Imperium._

-From the records of High Inquisitor Varren Pollonius, dated M41

_Tales of the Fallen_

**_Puzzling Introductions_**

"WAAAAAGGGHHHH!" the Orks cried and charged, as they so often did, against the men standing at the walls. Bolter fire and emplaced cannons cut them down in swaths, but they didn't care. In fact, that only seemed to spur them on further. Wave after wave rushed the defending men, shooting crude guns that went wildly off target as they ran to get in close with the soldiers who opposed them.

Cannons fired and the barricade took a pounding, for even Orks could replace their usual lack of aim with sheer numbers. And, as always, the greenskins had a surplus of numbers. The men ducked and shot in bursts, each covering the other as they ripped into the approaching tide of bodies that threatened to overwhelm them. Rockets and cannon fire tore into war trucks and bikes, sending shrapnel flying everywhere. The Orks responded by firing back and laughing, amused and emboldened by the explosions and the skill of their enemy.

They had been fighting for hours now, fifty men against hundreds. By all rights they should have been destroyed in the first ten minutes, the alien horde never stopping in its pursuit of blood and destruction. For how could so few stand against so many and survive? What could ordinary men do in the face of the impossible?

These were not ordinary men, however. These were Space Marines, and as the Orks came in close they drew their swords and axes and met them with equal fervor. The greenskins roared and climbed over the barricades, hollering and shooting as they swung their crude axes. Blows that would chop regular men in half were turned aside and returned by strikes of equal strength even as they all rushed about in a tangled mess. A few of the armored men went down, chopped to pieces under countless maddened axe strikes. Significantly more Orks fell, however, to disciplined technique and proper tactics.

They were strong, implacable in the face of brutal ferocity. Even as they were struck, they returned the Ork's shouts with cries of righteous anger. But it was not the markings of the Imperium that stood on these marines. No Aquila or rising moons rested upon their armor. Instead they were adorned with the eight-pointed star, and on the shoulders of many was the symbol of the Changer of Ways, the ever-mysterious Tzeentch. But for all this, they fought with skill worthy of any Astartes, and they relished in their opportunity to strike against the foul xenos that plagued them.

Their commander, a silver armored giant of a man even for an Astartes, raised his fist into the air as he pulled his power sword from an Ork's chest. Wind and lightning lashed around them, creating a maelstrom of power that laughed in the face of physics and created bleeding tears at the edges of reality. The greenskins were picked off their feet and sent tumbling into that hurricane of eldritch energy where they were torn apart and set alight by the psychic electricity that permeated it.

The Materium screamed, a high-pitched wail that sounded like thousands of voices coming together as one, and for a brief moment images could be made out in the gale. Within those swirling, electric winds were faces and eyes and strange things that had no right to exist in any sane universe. Things to drive weak minds mad with but the barest look. But for all the wind's terror, not a single power armored figure was touched by it. They stood as if caressed by a gentle breeze even as the Orks were thrown up and torn apart.

And then, as suddenly as it appeared, the gale cut off. Orks fell to the ground like rain, their bodies cut to bloody chunks that landed with wet sounds as they impacted the already blood soaked earth. The silver armored Astartes rolled his shoulders, as if working out a kink after vigorous exercise, and turned to one of his men.

"Casualties?"

"Two, Commander Drake," a marine holding medical equipment said as he looked up from one of those fallen bodies. "I've already retrieved their progenoid glands."

"Good," Drake said as he observed the battlefield. The Orks had come from the small community a few miles in the distance. They'd been rushing against their defenses for hours, sending wave after massive wave of bodies against the makeshift defenses the Astartes had created from easily disposable scrap metal repurposed for this. "That looks like it was the last of them. Let's head into town and clean up any that held back. Call the Thunderhawks to retrieve our brothers. They'll be mourned properly once we return to the ship."

They strode like kings toward the town, their armor bloodied but their spirits high. Several laughed and patted each other on the shoulders, expressions of camaraderie now that the fighting was done. At the front of the column stood their commander, Drake, while at his sides were a techmarine with several servo arms and a chaplain with a staff topped by the infamous eight-pointed star. The techmarine was looking over a dataslate, while his arms seemed to be fiddling with a number of small mechanical devices. The chaplain, for his part, merely kept one hand in front of himself as he walked, praying under his breath as they made they made their way.

The town itself was a small affair, the size and number of the buildings indicating it held perhaps a little more than a hundred thousand people. Or rather, it would have if the Orks hadn't taken to the place with their usual habits. Several structures were demolished, and there was a rank smell of rotting flesh everywhere. A number of buildings had been converted to fit Orkish sensibilities. Which was almost the same as turning it into a pile of rubble, with the only real difference being some of the Orks could scrounge together vehicles inside a few of them.

What was left of the population, beaten and malnourished from several months under Greenskin occupation, looked out from their hovels toward the approaching marines. Several cried out in joy at the sight of them, thinking themselves saved at last from their oppression. Those cries quickly changed to those of terror, however, when the group came close enough for their symbols to be seen.

A few Orks remained in town, and they attempted to have a go at the Astartes. They charged, axes held high and shooting wildly, while a few seemed to have extensive bionic replacements. They were quickly put down, concentrated bolter fire turning the small groups that assaulted them into fine red mist.

"I want six teams of five to scout out any surviving Greenskins," Drake said calmly as he crushed an Ork's skull under his armored boot. "Don't leave a single one alive. We're going to burn the bodies later."

Squad leaders responded with a salute and gathered their men, heading off to find any lingering resistance. Drake observed them with his hands behind his back. The rest of his men went about opening doors and trying to coax the townspeople out. The marine with the medical equipment was setting down tools to treat people, bandages and ointment for infection mostly. Most of the townsfolk wanted nothing to do with them and cowered within their homes, but a few brave or desperate folk came out for the promise of protection and treatment.

An older woman, obviously someone of authority, approached Drake cautiously. She looked tired; the months of slave labor having treated her aged frame none too kindly. She walked with a limp, and a burn scar covered half her face. A few young men were at her side, helping her walk and in general keeping an eye on the marines.

"Hello," Drake said as she approached, sounding oddly affable despite his voice coming out from his helmet vox. "I apologize for any disturbance. It must have been hell under the Orks. Just give us a few hours and we'll be on our way."

The old woman blinked, surprised at Drake's tone. "I see. Yes, we did have a rough time of it. Warboss Grizgal has been laying siege to the population for months now."

"I'd heard, thus why we're here. Yours is the third village we've liberated so far."

"Yes… about that," she began. "Look, the last thing I'd ever describe myself as is ungrateful, but I'm tired and fear's been beaten out of me by this point. What exactly are you planning to do with us?"

"Absolutely nothing," Drake responded, taking off his helmet. His was a handsome, angular face with piercing grey eyes. He swept back his black hair and smiled, something that might have been cheery if it wasn't placed on an Astartes, much less a Chaos marine. "You all have suffered enough. All we're going to do is burn out what's left of the Orks, scrounge a few supplies and leave before the Guard arrives and decides it'll be fun to take potshots at us."

"I doubt the Guard even knows we're here," she grumbled, bitterness over months of cruel slavery overwhelming any patriotism she had. And, on top of it all, she was tired. She was bruised in more places than she could count, and she had heavy bags under her eyes from horrible sleep under Greenskin hands. Not to mention all the horrors she'd seen, with the Orks taking their fun out on the beaten populace. Even speaking with a heretic didn't frighten her.

But this was mostly because she couldn't really feel much of anything anymore. She met Drake's eyes passively, all fire and life burnt out of her thanks to months of abuse.

"Of course they do," Drake responded warmly, keeping his voice gentle. "The Tyrannic War has left the Imperium strained, but you have not been forgotten. Regiments are in route right now to liberate the rest of the planet."

"If you say so," she said calmly. "I just wanted to know if we should expect more of the same that we got from the Orks, or worse."

With that, she turned and walked away, the men following her to make sure she didn't fall. Drake looked after her with sad eyes. She was broken, as were all these people under the heel of the alien. He'd seen it all before, but he couldn't ever get used to seeing humanity beaten down like this.

He was drawn from his musings by a hand on his shoulder. He looked over and saw the chaplain looking at him. The man had taken off his own helm, revealing a bald head and wide, expressive green eyes. His face resembled a brick in shape, and no one would ever call him especially good looking, but his expression made all the difference. It was one of kindness and, most importantly, understanding.

"Don't punish yourself, Tyrantus," he said. "You've done more than most men could with what you have. The Orks were already here when we arrived. Don't blame yourself for the actions of those beasts."

"We should have been here, Elias," Drake said softly. _"I_ should have been here. No one should have to suffer under the hands of xenos."

"And now they do not," Elias responded. "It will take time to rebuild and to heal, Tyrantus, and some may never recover from what they went through here. But their ordeal is over. That is all you can do for them, and you should be proud of it."

They stood in silence for a time, looking at the people desperate enough to accept help from a Chaos Warband come up for medical treatment. Drake received a few reports from his men about clearing out isolated Ork resistance, but nothing in any large number. It seemed the Greenskins had exhausted themselves upon the Draco Magisters, throwing their strength at the Astartes blindly until they were worn down to nothing.

"If you desire to preach, Word Bearer, I won't stop you," Drake said after a time. "But I don't think these people will be too receptive. Even now they look at us with fear and suspicion, as if we are playing some trick on them."

"The words of the faithful can reach the ears of the masses in the most surprising of ways, Tyrantus," Elias said with a smile. "We shall see what we shall see."

With one last clap upon Drake's shoulder, Elias walked toward the slowly growing crowd of people. He opened his arms and smiled, even managing to maintain it when a collective flinch went through the crowd.

"Harken, all ye downtrodden, as I speak to you now. I come bearing the gospel of the gods. Please stay a while and listen."

Drake tuned Elias out as the Word Bearer sprang into his sermon. The big marine was almost certain that the crowd wouldn't really go for the priest's words, but he'd been surprised before. Elias could be very charismatic, and this without the use of sorcery. Drake would have known if the man was using such methods, known and put a stop to them. But such was never the case. It was all the man's speechcraft and enthusiasm that held whatever impromptu congregation formed under the Word Bearer's preaching. If people were willing to listen, Drake saw no reason to interfere with the chaplain.

The sound of augmetics twitching brought his attention to Galimon. The tech marine was still fussing over reports on his dataslate even while his servo arms manipulated various other devices. It had always amazed Drake that the former Iron Warrior could manage such a thing with so little focus, but he supposed when your brain was half augmetic it wasn't such a difficult task.

"It's good that we're finally getting some raiding done," the tech marine said off hand, his eyes never leaving his dataslate as he manipulated the screen. "We suffered terrible losses to the Tyranids. Calculating what we took from the other population centers, I would say half the resources of this place will go well toward getting us back to full strength again. Now if only we could find some more ships…"

"We're not taking half."

Galimon finally looked up from his screen, his expression unreadable thanks to his helmet but his incredulity obvious from his posture. "I beg your pardon?"

"We're not taking half," Drake said again. "Look at these people, Galimon. They're beaten down and broken. They'll need all the help they can get. No, we're only taking a fifth. That will have to do."

"A fifth?" Galimon said softly, but with his voice rising as he continued. "A fifth! Are you out of your mind? I know your feelings about exploiting the mortals, Warmaster, but this is just too much! A fifth will not be sufficient with what we already have to make this whole endeavor profitable! We're barely breaking even as it is!"

"Supplement with the Ork stuff, then," Drake said tersely, his tone darkening. Galimon seemed not to sense it, however, gesticulating wildly as his voice rose again.

"The Ork stuff is useless! Almost worse than useless! We lost three ships in that war ten years ago, Warmaster! Three! Out of seven! And we had to cannibalize one of them just to keep the remainder up to spec! Our Warband is gutted! We have to take measures to get back to full strength!"

Is Galimon had been going to say more, it cut off in a choked gurgle as Drake lifted a hand and raised the tech marine off the ground. Galimon gasped and clawed at his throat, trying vainly to breath as Drake stole the air from his lungs. The Warmaster's eyes were glowing brightly with psychic fire, and his teeth were drawn back in a snarl. He reached up and took off Galimon's helmet, revealing a scarred face riddled with augmetics. It was difficult to see fear in mechanical eyes, but Drake knew the man was afraid.

"You don't get to question my orders after I've given them, Galimon," Drake said quietly, menace dripping into every word. "You most certainly do not get to do so in front of civilians. I give you leeway because you're clever and keep the Draco Magisters' equipment running smoothly, but don't think for an instant that gives you authority over me."

The light in Drake's eyes died, and Galimon dropped the ground gasping for air and backing away from the Warmaster. He composed itself quickly, but for a moment hate and fear were obvious on his face. Drake, for his part, simply glared at the smaller marine.

"This won't happen again, Galimon. A fifth, I give you. Don't take even one scrap more. If any of the Ork material is useable, take that too."

He turned and walked away, giving an unspoken dismissal. Inside, Galimon was seething. How dare the man treat him like this! How dare he write off his concerns! This wasn't in the best interests of the Warband! Not in the least! The fool was going to grind the Draco Magisters into nothing at this rate on his misguided escapades!

Another marine came over and helped him up, looking at him questioningly through his helmet.

"We may have to speed up the operation," Galimon said quietly. "Tell the others, but be careful about it. The last thing we need is Drake finding out."

Drake's expression was stoic as he walked away, but in truth the large Astartes was aggravated. This wasn't the first time Galimon's opinion had differed with his own, of course. Such a thing could be valuable while setting plans, but to question his orders in public? That was a breach of discipline too severe to allow.

"Perhaps I've been too lenient with him," he said softly as he looked over his men's efforts. Marines were moving about, gathering supplies in even stacks organized by type. The crowd was getting larger, the promise of proper food and protection overwhelming their fear. It was a heartening sight, seeing the poor people freed from the yoke of the alien.

_You care too much for these mortals so small,_ came a voice within his mind. _It clouds your judgement, diminishes thought. You waste time kneeling when you should stand tall. Your subordinate's counsel is well wrought._

"Rhyming, now?" he said to the empty air. "That's new from you. What brought this on?"

_It was long ago, in ages past. Many believed we spoke in rhyme. As all things, it did not last. But we found it amusing, for a time._

Drake's brow furrowed in annoyance, but that was all the indication he showed of his thoughts. He passed by another marine, who promptly saluted him. Drake responded and sent the man on his way before replying. "So this is just to amuse yourself, daemon? You've been silent for months now. I'd thought myself rid of you."

_Those wretched insects cast a deep shadow. We cannot stand within its reach. As with the Moon Goddess, we are laid low. From such peril even I must caution beseech. _

"They affect the Warp like Serenity then," Drake muttered, just the barest hint of anger coming in to his voice at the Princess' name. "Calming it? Interesting. And it pushes out daemonkind?"

_We could not enter that damning void. Its silence pained us, stagnant and dead! Had we lingered there we would be destroyed. I had to wait for you, further ahead._

"That would explain why your voice was so muted during the battle. You were talking to me from far away."

_Within the aether distance is nothing. Such is mutable, as is time. But from far afield I was forced to sing. So far you could barely hear my words' chime. _

"As riveting as this is, we're getting off track. I will not change my mind about the acquisition here. My decision is made. These people have suffered enough. We take a fifth and no more."

_Your foolishness is such born from pride. You limit yourself when you require strength. Your fate is uncertain, but your will shall be tried. Keep not good advice at arms length._

"My decision is made," Drake said again, harsher this time. "Nothing will deter me from it. And stop speaking in rhyme. You're not clever. If you keep this up, I'll simply not respond."

The daemon laughed, a cackle that seemed to come from too many mouths. But that was its only response. It did not speak again, something the marine was infinitely grateful for. The daemon had a strange temperament. Sometimes it would be quiet for months, and others it would badger him constantly. It had been a great help to him before, but other times it seemed like hit did nothing but try to drive him mad with its pestering. After an annoying session such as this Drake was glad to be alone in his thoughts, and now that the daemon was quiet he threw himself back into directing the final clean up of this town.

Hours passed in relative peace. The remaining Orks were cleared out and their bodies burned. A few of the marines went back toward the killing field with flamers to set the other corpses alight and hopefully stem any recurring Greenskin invasion. Drake busied himself by helping his men gather supplies for both themselves and the surviving people from the burnt out town.

Aside from the people coming for treatment, and the small crowd that Elias had managed to gather, most of the civilians continued to ignore them to the best of their abilities. They looked at Drake and his men with a mixture of fear, anger and confusion. They were Chaos marines, that much was obvious. So why help them? Why hadn't they just rounded them all up for slave labor? It didn't make sense.

Their confusion wasn't anything new to him, nor was the scorn he saw on the faces of many.

Things were just about wrapped up when Elias returned, a few people behind him. Three men and two women followed cautiously along, looking every which way. A few of the survivors glared at them, and some raised their voices in protest, but the presence of the Astartes prevented any harsher action.

"I'm honestly surprised you managed to sway some of them, old man."

Elias simply bowed his head, taking the implied compliment with a smile. "As I said, the words of the faithful will find a way to reach the ears of the masses." He gestured to his little following, his smile growing even wider. "Come along, now. It will be hard work, but I promise no harm will come to you."

Thunderhawks settled down near the town, ready to take Astartes, supplies and volunteers back to the ships in orbit. Galimon was at the head of one group, managing several containers filled with mechanical equipment. He was very animated, his servo arms twitching as they settled everything in place. He took one moment to glance at Drake's way before promptly walking into the spacecraft.

_He's going to be troublesome,_ Drake thought to himself. _I'd best be ready in case he decides to start something._

The daemon laughed again, which could have meant anything. He could sometimes glean its intent when it decided to be cryptic, but for the most part trying to puzzle out the thing's meaning was like swimming through mud, difficult and messy. Most of the time it simply wasn't worth the effort.

_"Sir,"_ came a voice over the vox, snapping him out of his musings. _"We've got reports of a massive Ork migration on the planet. A huge horde has ceased their siege of one of the major hives and is making its way toward your position."_

"About time we got their attention," Drake said as he worked a small amplivisor built into his helmet. He scanned the horizon for a few seconds before spotting it. There! In the distance was a small dust cloud, almost too small for his helmet to detect. But it was getting larger. "Is the Warboss with them?"

_"Unknown, sir. We've also received reports that an Imperial Guard fleet has arrived in system. They should be here within hours."_

"You know what to do, then. Let's leave the good men a present."

_"Yes sir."_

There was a bright flash as Drake boarded the Thunderhawk, followed quickly by a booming sound that was almost a physical in its strength. And then the shockwave hit, sending debris flying as the lance batteries slammed into the dust cloud Drake had seen so far away. A mushroom cloud formed in the distance as the vibrations died, and Drake smiled as he settled into his seat.

"Back to the ships, men. We're done here."

{oOo}


	25. The Imperium Never Sleeps III

{oOo}

_THE IMPERIUM NEVER SLEEPS_

{oOo}

**Hope of the Desperate**

The elevator could not move fast enough for me, and I was twitching the whole time the numbers slowly ticked off toward where my car was parked. Which really wasn't doing anything for my wounds, mind you. In fact, I was getting more than a little light-headed from the lingering pain, not to mention the blood loss from my wounded shoulder. But I couldn't stop moving! I felt that if I took a moment to rest, I wouldn't be able to get up again. I had to move! I had to make sure Raz and Gracia were all right!

My breath was coming out in gasps as I tried, desperately, to hold on to the adrenaline surge from my fight just a few minutes ago. This is not an easy thing to do, nor is it particularly pleasant. I could feel it fading, and if it did I'd likely be too tired to do much of anything. And I couldn't afford that.

_Gotta be sharp,_ I thought to myself, wiping a hand over my face and smearing it with blood and sweat. I used one of my cleaner coat sleeves to clean myself, though it probably didn't help much. _Gotta be quick. Stay in the game, idiot. Stay focused!_

The door dinged open, and I launched out the elevator. There were people mulling about, but I didn't stop for them. Any one of them could have been compromised, could have been stationed there to pick me off in case the assassins upstairs failed. I was lost in tunnel vision, my eyes only for my ride. I pushed people out of the way, several shouting angrily after me as I knocked them over, but I didn't care. I had to move! I got into the seat, turned the engine on and took to the air without any further delay.

"Raz!" I shouted into my car's vox after I'd gotten onto the skyway. I nearly clipped someone as I fumbled for the device, and the vox almost slipped from my hands before I managed to get myself situated properly. "Raz, pick up!"

_"Zen?"_ came Raz's voice, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He was okay! Emperor be praised, I wasn't too late! _"Are you all right? Your voice is raspy."_

"Never mind that! Raz, I got attacked at headquarters. I need you to take Gracia somewhere safe!"

_"You were attacked in the middle of the building?" _Raz asked in alarm, and I couldn't blame him. The Arbitrator's headquarters is as much a fortress as it is the central hub for law and order. It was designed to withstand sieges. _"Did those gangers infiltrate somehow?"_

"Raz, I was _attacked_ by Arbitrators!" I all but shouted, though it came out strangely through my abused throat. "The Arbitrators have been compromised. We've got to go on the assumption we're on our own right now."

Raz said something in Eldar, presumably a curse. I'd have to remember that one.

"Yeah, it's bad."

_"Understatement of the century. Okay, so we can't trust anyone in the force. Where do we go? We can't be sure the safe houses aren't compromised."_

"Get Gracia into your car and go to Maria's joint, the one downtown," I said, pushing onward to make sure he couldn't protest. "I'll meet you there."

_"Can we be sure she isn't taken in by this insanity also?"_

"Of course not, but she's got resources and you know she's paranoid. She's pretty much our only shot at making any headway with this before someone blows our heads in."

Raz sighed, but I knew I had him convinced. He didn't want to see Maria, but he knew as well as I did she was pretty much our only hope right now. And Raz, Serenity bless his soul, didn't make a fuss when he knew the odds were stacked against us.

_"Right. I'll meet you there."_

I finally allowed myself to relax a little, to let go of the tension that had suffused my body and kept me going for the last ten minutes. There's nothing quite so powerful as relief when you're almost certain something horrible has happened. It's an intoxicating feeling, almost a natural high. But it also drove home just how tired I was. It took me three tries to clip the vox back into its slot and get both hands on the wheel.

We could do this. Things were bad, but we could find a way to make it through all this craziness and find a way to succeed. All we needed was some time to catch our breath, to get some answers. Maria would be the first step toward that.

On the books, Maria was just a moderately successful owner of a chain of bars and nightclubs. What most people didn't know, however, was that she'd worked her way up from the bottom of the underhive as the leader of one Samson IV's gangs. The bars and clubs were a front for some of her less than legal operations, but she never caused too much trouble and actually helped keep some of the nastier criminal elements in line, so the Arbitrators left her alone for the most part.

She was a tough one, and she could go from laughing to stabbing at a moment's notice if you didn't know how to handle her. Naturally, I had little trouble. I'm not one to brag, but my charm is one of my greatest strengths. Not that some people didn't disagree with me, but what did they know?

But even more than that, I had a friend in the fight when dealing with her, so to speak. Maria was a strange woman. She was strong and didn't take shit from anyone, you had to when you were the head of a gang, but she had the weirdest fetishes.

I'll go right out and say it. Maria thought Eldar were hot. I'm actually understating that by summing it up with just one sentence. Maria _really_ thought Eldar were hot. Apparently there was just something about skinny, pointy-eared aliens that really did it for her. And my partner had caught her eye as some kind of epitome of Eldar manliness, or something. I don't know. She'd sent letters to him, poetry describing in great detail of how she lusted after him. Some of it was really racy stuff, with pictures of her in various states of undress attached.

It made Raz really uncomfortable. As far as I knew, humans weren't his kink and being so blatantly desired by one kind of creeped him out. Personally, I found it hilarious. But she'd never gone so far as to break into his apartment or stalk him or anything, so we decided not to press the issue. She was too much of an asset, really, because despite the fact that she was in charge of one of the larger gangs she was willing to work with the Arbites.

You'll get hard line Arbitrators on other worlds who would balk at such a thing and say you we should all do our damnedest to purge every single criminal element from every world. Fact of the matter is you're never going to get things that clean. The best you can manage is keeping things in line and make sure there aren't too many incidents.

She'd actually been helping curb the rising hate crimes, at least around this Hive. A helpful tip here, a few dead gangers there. You know, that sort of thing. She couldn't do too much, of course. There's only so much you could stretch the illusion between her gang and the Arbitrators before the mask cracked completely. But anything that took the pressure off was appreciated.

Granted, it wasn't all from the kindness of her heart. Maria wasn't a racist, but she wouldn't put her neck on the line just to keep the alien population safe. The Arbitrators had had to step up on patrols and crack down harder on illegal activities in the last few years since all this madness started. More Arbites on the streets meant criminals had to step lightly, and that was bad for her as well.

_Let's hope I can use that,_ I thought grimly as I pulled my car into Maria's bar downtown, _Illumination. _An apt name considering how many lights it had going around inside and outside.

Finding a parking spot actually took some work, but I wanted to be as close as possible. Getting jumped twice in one day was more than enough, thank you very much. Which meant I had to wait almost thirty minutes for some asshole to actually back up and leave.

So by the time I finally walked into _Illumination, _I had a pounding headache to go along with my busted shoulder, my hand was starting to hurt again and I was still tired as hell. The lights going off around the dance floor weren't helping either, not to mention the loud music. I walked up to the bar, plopped myself down and waved for the bartender to come over. If I was going to have to keep doing things for the rest of the night, I was damn well going to get a drink to go along with it.

I'd seen the bartender before, a guy by the name of Johnny, I think. He was one of Maria's crew, someone who actually knew that the bar was a front as much as it was a legitimate business. He came over to me, but stopped short once he'd gotten close enough to see me properly in the hazy mix of darkness and flashing lights that made up _Illumination's_atmosphere.

"Sweet Serenity, the hell happened to you?"

The soul of tact, Johnny was.

"Give me an Astartes Corkscrew," I said while doing my best not to slap the man for staring at me so hard. It'd been a rough night, and I was in no mood for his, or anyone's, sass. "And double the liquor."

Johnny's eyes narrowed. "You want lemon, watermelon or strawberry with that?"

"Give me everything. I'm feeling dangerous tonight."

The man nodded at my correct answer to the code we were speaking in and started making my drink. Hardly anyone knew about the Astartes Corkscrew, which was a mix of beer and hard liquor mixed with various types of fruit. Someone who answered the fruit question wrong may find himself beaten up outside an ally at best, or given a las round in his head at worst.

Knowing what to say to the right people is half the battle in this game. The other half is carrying lots of guns.

Johnny passed the drink to me and called over someone else to man the bar, after which he headed toward a locked door leading to the backroom. I just sat there sipping my drink and wincing, wishing there was a better drink for the code word. The damn thing kicked like a grox, but at the same time tasted far too sweet. Why Maria loved these things I would never know.

While Johnny was off doing whatever it was Johnny did, I was just sitting there and twinging now and then as I drank this Emperor damned concoction. Frankly, despite how rushed I'd been earlier Johnny could take his time. I needed to think, to plan. Damned if that wasn't difficult when you're bone weary. My shoulder throbbed in counterpoint with my hand, which I ignored as I sipped my far too fruity drink and mulled over the facts.

I'd been attacked inside Arbitrator HQ, the center of law enforcement for both this city and ultimately the entire planet. A fortress where people are regularly given exams and check ups to make sure nothing slipped through the cracks, whether it be spies or an Arbite about to break under pressure. Seriously, I had to get tests taken every month just as standard procedure, so how in the name of the Throne did these bozos sneak men inside?

"They've gotten to some of the docs that do the testing," I muttered before taking another sip, ignoring the sensations my abused taste buds were sending to my brain. "Only explanation."

Which was surprisingly organized for your run of the mill band of cultists. Yeah, in the holo dramas you see these guys sneaking around in the shadows, and any smiling face could be a mask for a daemon-worshipping traitor just waiting to stab you in the back. But really, most of the time it was just a bunch of idiots that were very bored and had too much time on their hands. They messed around and in general didn't accomplish much. Sometimes you got a group that's actually serious about their stupidity, but while occasionally dangerous they were just small bands of people that fought amongst themselves as much as they caused trouble for us.

And then you get the rare groups, the dangerous ones. The cultists that were widespread, deeply entrenched and actually had the resources to pull off goals that they zealously believed in. These were the nutjobs that actually communicated with horrific creatures on a semi-regular basis. People like that could send planets spiraling into damnation if left unchecked, and if they could sneak agents, very likely possessed agents from the way they moved, into Headquarters then we were in very deep trouble.

A hand on my good shoulder made me jump, and I whirled around. Johnny took a step back as my arm flailed about, almost hitting him.

"Whoa, calm down there!" he said as he raised his hands. "I'm just here to tell you the boss is ready for you."

I set down my drink, thankful I didn't have to finish it, and nodded.

"All right, take me to her."

He led me through the dance floor and toward another locked door, taking me up a flight of stairs. I really didn't appreciate the walk, considering how beaten up I was. Don't let entertainment media fool you. You're _sore_ after a fight, sore and tired. The only thing I wanted at this point was to sleep for a few days, but I couldn't do that. There was too much going on.

Johnny opened a door near the top floor and motioned me inside, closing it behind me. I heard the click of a lock, and no footsteps. Johnny must have been guarding the door. But that was secondary as I took in the room.

It was flashy and ostentatious, filled with all sorts of tech that ranged from a wide view holoscreen to a sound system that took up a fourth of a wall. There were little trophies all over the place kept in glass cases, which ranged from pieces of clothing to strange weapons. There were two small couches and one huge one, all of them a striking red color. The carpet was a deep, fluffy thing that my shoes sank into about a good two inches, and the walls were just lined with the latest styles of art made by the younger crowd. You know, the ones that weren't some rich socialite's kid.

Raz and Gracia were already there, the little girl sitting on one of the couches and playing with some game system that Maria no doubt had stashed around. Actually seeing that she was all right helped melt a little more of the ice in my stomach. Raz himself was getting harassed by the woman in question, looking distinctly uncomfortable with Maria's hand on his knee and her face about five inches away from his.

She had to bend down a little bit to do it. Maria was not a small girl. In fact, Maria was a pretty damn large girl, about six inches taller than me! She also had more muscle than me, and I'm no slouch. Being an Arbite is hard work, after all. Add in short cropped red hair and a collection of scars all across her body, and what you've got is someone you never, ever wanted to get on the bad side of. I've never seen someone from Catachan, myself, but if there anything like the stories I've heard from offworlders, then I would say Maria would fit well in their company.

She turned to me, looking slightly irritated that she couldn't keep flirting with Raz, and frowned. That expression, combined with the scar going across her nose, made her look pretty fierce. But I knew it was just because I'd interrupted her before she could start laying hands on my partner. Raz, in contrast, gave me a grateful look as Maria pulled away from him.

"Hey Maria," I said with a smile. "How's it going?"

"Mat," she said. "You look like twenty different kinds of hell."

_I'm getting real tired of hearing that._

I kept up my smile with a bit of effort, not letting my irritation show on my face. By the sudden grin Maria gave me, I knew my efforts were probably less than stellar.

"I'm fine. It's all show, really. You should see the other guys."

"You shouldn't hide that you hurt like that," Gracia said softly, having put the game down. She was looking at me with sad eyes. It made me kind of uncomfortable, really. Children shouldn't have to look sad. "How can anyone help you if you hide it?"

"Ah, darling," I said with humor and perhaps a little sadness. "Sometimes that's just what grownups do to get through the day. You'll understand when you're older."

She scrunched up her face at me before turning back to her game. "Adults are silly."

Maria gave Gracia a thoughtful look before turning back in my direction. She stood up and walked over, towering over me as she looked at my battered form more closely. Then, before I could react, she pretty much just picked me up and plopped me down onto one of the couches.

I protested, of course, but she apparently wasn't having any of it. I kinda figured she wouldn't care, but it's the principal of the matter. You don't just pick a man up like that, even if you could bench press twice my weight. It just wasn't done. In any event, Maria sat back down and leaned back, her grin gone and her expression all business as she looked at both Raz and myself with eyes like stone.

"So," she began. "What's this Razith'al has been telling me of trouble?"

I glanced to the side at Gracia, trying to be subtle. The poor girl knew that her parents were different, but I didn't want her to know that they might have monsters out of nightmare resting inside them.

Thankfully, Maria got what I was getting at. She turned to Gracia and out her hands on her knees, smiling at the little girl. "Hey there, Sweetie. I've got to talk for a bit with the boys. You know, more silly adult stuff. I've got a friend right outside the door that can play some games with you, if you want. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Gracia's eyes narrowed, and while I'm sure she tried to look serious it really just came out as adorable when she scrunched her eyes together.

"You're trying to get rid of me," she said, pouting.

"No, no!" Maria said as she maintained her smile. "It's really not gonna interest you much. I mean, I really don't want to be talking about it either, but I gotta. I just want to make sure you have fun, all right?"

Gracia brightened at the chance to play with an actual person, and was happily led out by Maria to Johnny, who while giving his boss a put upon look did not complain. Maria closed the door with a wave to the little girl, and looked me right in the eye once the door was latched.

"Okay," she said softly as she walked to the center of the room, all the cheer she'd shown Gracia evaporating. "What was that all about?"

"She's a psyker," I said softly, hoping that if Gracia was distracted she might not pick up on what we were saying. "Over the course of about a week she said she felt her family change on the inside, and when we confronted her brother enacting some hate crime he acted strangely. We think they might have been daemonhosts."

Maria's breath hitched, and she turned to Raz.

"Is this true?"

"Every bit of it," Raz said solemnly. "And it gets worse. Zen said he was attacked by Arbites inside Headquarters just an hour ago."

"You really needed his word to confirm?" I asked wryly, feeling a bit put out.

"Yes," Maria said bluntly, and I winced.

"Way to wound somebody, Maria. Come on, what's Raz got that I don't?"

"Aside from a perfect ass," she said with a wide grin to Raz, who paled a little as she leered at him. "He doesn't have a rep for reckless actions and lying through his teeth when he needs help."

Ah… Well, she kind of had a point there. Only a small point, of course. It's not like I went around fibbing to everyone! Exaggerating now and then, maybe, but outright lying? Perish the thought.

Okay, yeah. I wouldn't buy it if I said that either.

"All right, fine. But we're serious here."

"I believe you," Maria said as she sat down, holding her head in her hands. She stayed that way for a few moments before sitting up again, looking very tired and a little scared. "This is really bad, Mat. I mean _really_ bad. If there's a cult putting daemons into people, then the rot's spread far. I don't know if we can contain this."

"We have to, Maria. If we don't, then the Guard is gonna come in and lot people are going to die." I leaned forward, ignoring the fire building up in my shoulder as I rested my elbows on my knees. "Please, Maria. We need your help."

"Whatever I can do, I'll do. But don't expect any miracles, Mat. If the corruption has spread into the Arbites then we've lost one of our biggest guns."

"Maybe not entirely," I said. Maria gave me a quizzical look, which I took as my cue to continue. "Everybody in the force is given loads of tests to prevent just this kind of scenario. Physical, psychological, psychic, you name it and we're given it. If we've been infiltrated, it means they must have gotten to the doctors first. And if we can find those doctors, I'll bet you double or nothing we can determine who has been compromised."

"Yeah," Raz said as he stroked his chin. "Yeah, that just might work. And once we know who we can trust, we can purge the corrupted elements and crack down on the problem before it becomes truly out of control."

"And also before that observer from the Royal Family arrives."

"What?!" Maria all but shouted. "The hell, Mat? That's the first I've heard about this!"

_Shit, didn't mean to say that. Dammit, I'm too tired. Making stupid mistakes._

"Yeah," I said slowly. "Word down the grapevine is that the Royal Family is sending an observer to take stock of the rise in hate crime going across the planet. Should be here in about a month."

"A month?" Maria said slowly. "That's not much time, Mat."

"I know, but that's what we've got to deal with. If you can get your people to investigate the doctors who run our tests, then maybe we can make some headway in a week or two. It's our only hope at this point."

"Right, right. You don't ask for much, do you?"

"You owe me some favors, Maria. Do this for me and consider us square."

She looked pensive for a few moments, and I held my breath. This was it, the defining moment. Maria was well known for paying her debts, but I was asking a lot of her here. She could just as easily decide to cut and run, pack up her gang and move off world. It would be expensive, but she could do it. And if she didn't work with us on this, we were pretty much screwed. The bosses of a few other minor gangs owed me as well, but none of them were as large or as organized as Maria's crew. And, fact of the matter was, none of them were as trustworthy as her. If she decided she didn't want to help, we were dead in the water.

"Fine," she said after what felt like an eternity, and I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding. "I'll do it. I'll send the boys to get everything we need right this hour. Hopefully we'll start getting some hits in the next few days."

"Thanks, Maria," I said softly, as much from exhaustion as from gratitude.

"Hey, I'm not doing this entirely because I owe you." She turned to Raz, who stiffened under her gaze. "You, my sexy friend, are gonna go on a date with me when all this is done."

Raz's mouth opened and closed for a few seconds, kind of like a fish, before he nodded weakly. I mean, what else could he do? Maria gave him a big grin, pleased as punch. I'd probably said something snarky if I wasn't having trouble keeping my eyes open.

Something both Maria and Raz noticed, apparently.

"Hey, Zen?" Raz said, looking concerned. "You should really get some sleep. And get that shoulder looked at. You've had it pretty bad today, my friend."

"No time for that," I said groggily. Man, why was the room getting so fuzzy? I tried to get up, but all I did was kind of fumble around on the couch. "There's more to do. Gotta make sure Gracia is safe. Gotta hide her…"

"We'll take care of that," Maria said, pushing me back and laying me down. "Seriously, Mat. Get some sleep. Everything will be fine."

"All right… then," I said as I closed my eyes. "Just for… a few… hours…."

And then I knew no more, moving blessedly into the realm of sleep.

{oOo}

"Mat," I heard faintly, as if from a great distance. It was fuzzy, like coming down a tunnel or underwater. Something was shaking me too, and I tried to wave it away. Why couldn't it just leave me alone? It was so comfortable just lying down. I wanted it to stop.

"Mat!"

But it didn't stop. If anything, it got worse. Slowly, I blinked my eyes and clawed my way awake. My thoughts were still moving slowly, but my vision was clearing up. Maria was in front of me, holding me by my shoulders. There was remarkably little pain, surprisingly. I glanced over and saw that I was stripped to the waist, and my shoulder was bandaged.

_Wonder when that happened… Wasn't there before…_

"Dammit, Mat! I need you to focus!"

"Move aside," Raz said as he walked up, placing his hands on my head. "He's still out of it from the painkillers. I'm going give him a kick start."

His eyes glowed blue, and I wondered what he was doing. I didn't have to wonder for long. Lightning jolted down my spine, traveling from Raz's hands straight into my nerves! I spasmed and gasped, and the room spun a little bit as I tried to orientate myself. It cleared soon enough, and my thoughts came together quickly as the fog from before shattered under my friend's touch.

"Merciful Serenity!" I roared, batting Raz's hands aside. "Was that really necessary? Ahh! Feels like someone just poured recaf directly into my brain!"

"Mat, for once in your life shut up," Maria growled out. I blinked. She looked angry, _really _angry. "We don't have time for you to be a wiseass."

Oh, that was so very not good. Something was wrong. Maria looked like she was three steps from strangling someone, and Raz was giving me the expression he usually gave before he started shooting people.

"What's going on?"

"My boys were ambushed at the safe house we were keeping Gracia at," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "Three of my people are dead, and the only one who escaped came back badly wounded."

A cold, icy pit formed in my stomach at her words, and it must have showed on my face. She nodded, confirming my worst fears.

"They took her, Mat. The bastards took her. She's been kidnapped."

{oOo}


End file.
